


A Place to Rest My Spirit

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Community: spn_j2_bigbang, Incest, M/M, Reincarnation, Slow Build, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-22
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean find an amulet that lets the restless souls of their past selves live for six months, it’s a way to mend broken bridges and let soul-mates who may have lost their chance at happiness find some again. Marcus and James live for six months, but it’s Sam and Dean who must face the consequences of their actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

| 1 |

One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight,  
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;  
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,  
Then look for me by the moonlight,  
Watch for me by the moonlight,  
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way  
\- The Highwayman, Alfred Noyes

June, 1425

He paces the cage, ten steps in each direction, counting each step until he gets so high that he loses track. He can’t remember how many days he’s spent in his windowless prison. The other inmates are higher up, above him, and he’s completely isolated. He is utterly alone, but for the water boy whose visits are inconsistent and infrequent at best. When the counting becomes tedious, each step becomes James’ name. James. James. James. Jem. Jem. Help. Me. Please. Save. Me. Jem.

“Master Marcus?” It’s the water boy. Marcus jerks his head to look at the filthy youth, turning to look at him with undisguised hope. “Master Marcus, I daren’t stay long, but here.” He thrusts the ladle through the bars, and inside of it, instead of water is a folded bit of parchment. “It’s from the lady, master,” he whispers.

Heart sinking in his chest, Marcus unfolds it, staring down at the neat handwriting.

“Marcus,” the letter says and it’s obvious that James’ sister has written the missive. James always calls him ‘Marc’. “Marcus, I will try my hardest to put your escape plan into motion, but I wish I could impart better news. James isn’t coming.”

He lets the letter fall to the dirt floor of the jail. There is nothing else to read, because James isn’t coming. Marcus walks to the other side of his cell, and even pacing away the hours ceases to help. He slides his back down the dirty, cold, stone wall. James isn’t coming.

He closes his eyes and waits out the hours, knowing that when dawn comes, so does his death. He always knew that his life would come to a stop at the end of a rope. He always thought that he’d have more time. More time with James.

He sleeps the last hour of his life away.

When the soldiers come, they drag him to his feet, clapping irons on his wrists and ankles. Not that the escape plan matters now, because James isn’t coming. He walks a dead man’s walk to gallows that glow with the light of the rising sun.

Unbidden, he turns his head to look at the king’s podium, brown eyes searching for James’ face in the royal crowd. His father, the king sits looking grave and stern. His sister, Mary Elizabeth, is crying silently, the shine of tears only visible when the sun hits her face. His mother, the queen, is nowhere to be found. Neither is James.

There’s a glimmer of hope in his heart that remains lit until the noose tightens. James isn’t with his family - so perhaps his sister was wrong. James must be coming, he must be.

The floor drops out from under him and he falls, but James will be coming.

James will be –

 

 

James can hear the drums that tell him his lover is walking towards the gallows. They’re faint, faint enough that if he wasn’t straining his ears for any sign of the proceedings, he wouldn’t have heard them. He hopes, dreams, prays that perhaps the man walking to his death isn’t his Marcus, but he knows in his heart that such fancies are folly.

A yawning emptiness opens up inside of him, and he feels faint, as though he isn’t getting enough air. He breathes deeply, staring at the one candle that lights his cellar prison.

There’s a few tied up barrels in the corner. They used to hold wine but they’ve been there for so long that they knock around empty when he nudges at them. A quick tug loosens the thick, scratchy rope. He’s just tall enough to stand on one of the barrels to tie it to the rafters.

He hopes his sister isn’t the one to find his body.

 

April, 2011

His head cracks painfully against the wall when the ghost finally flings him to one side. Sam grunts as his skull connects, the world swimming around him. It’s hard to focus, he can barely hear Dean, can’t even see him. When the ghost materializes in front of his blurry vision, it’s smiling, large and toothy before the iron poker Dean is wielding slices through it.

“Shit, Sammy,” Dean says quietly. The blood is sticky on his face and Dean tries to wipe it away.

“Go,” Sam tells him. “I didn’t get the west wall. Don’t worry about me.” Dean looks torn but he scrambles away towards the west wall to throw the hexbag into the hole Sam had started to make. He kicks at the wall until the hole is big enough, and throws the last hex bag in just before the poltergeist re-materialized.

White light floods the house and Sam flinches, one hand rising to hide his eyes. “Ow,” he says pathetically and Dean laughs, sounding relieved.

“You okay, Sammy?” He can feel Dean kneel by his side. “Shit, that poltergeist got you good,” he murmurs, one hand in his hair, feeling for a lump.

“Lucifer couldn’t keep me in hell for longer than a week, and a poltergeist nearly kills me,” Sam snorts. “Figures.”

Dean smiles briefly for a second, and Sam takes a minute to catch his breath. It’s been so many years since they’ve been on even keel. Since before his Deal to the Devil, since before Ruby and the blood, since before Lucifer’s raising, since Sam took a dive into Hell. They’re brothers again, finally, after four years. “Dude,” Dean says, cradling the back of Sam’s head so it rests against his palm rather than the wall. “I need a vacation.”

Sam laughs. “You need a vacation?”

“Sammy, I would kill for a vacation.” Dean’s eyes soften as he helps his brother up. “You okay?”

His lips turn up in a smile. “Looking forward to our vacation. Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here.” Dean slings an arm around Sam’s waist as he leads them out of the house. “Call Ms. What’s-Her-Nuts and let her know that the ghost is gone.”

Sam laughs, tugging out the phone. “Schmidt, Dean.”

“Whatever.” Together, they stumble through the front door and to the Impala.

 

 

November, 2011

“It wasn’t our fault,” Sam protests weakly, wiping away tears that still belong to James. Dean’s standing on the other side of the room, and Sam can see the tension in his shoulders. “It wasn’t us, Dean,” he adds, when his brother doesn’t respond. “It was the damn amulet.” Dean is silent so Sam presses on. “I wasn’t me,” he adds, getting a little desperate. “I wasn’t me, I was James and you-,” he stops short as Dean snorts.

Dean’s head twitches like he wants to turn but he stops himself just before he finishes the motion. “The amulet,” he agrees bitterly, “that is - real shocker, here - gone.”

It’s Sam’s turn to look down and away. It’s the first time he really sees where they are. The cabin - Bobby’s cabin - is warm, there’s a fire going in the hearth, and he stares at it for a long moment before speaking. “It was six months,” he says quietly. “That was the deal. Fredrick... explained it to Marcus and I.”

“Then you should have destroyed the fucking thing_” Dean says, his voice loud, but not quite a shout. “At least it would have ended with us.”

Sam wraps his arms around himself, a full body hug. “There wasn’t enough time. By the time I’d even thought of it, it was already too late. I tried to tell James... but it might not have worked. And we’d have been stuck forever.”

“Maybe that would have been best,” Dean snaps. “Then this wouldn’t be happening.”

Frowning, Sam takes a reflexive step forward. “What about Bobby?” he asks quietly. “Cas?”

“Cas would have found us.”

“Not with the sigils carved on our ribs,” Sam protests. “Dean, there was nothing we could do. There still is nothing we can do. We can just move on.”

Dean’s shoulder muscles twitch with the effort of not moving. “No Sam,” he mutters, voice low and wrecked. “We can’t.”

“Dean...” Sam clears the room in a few steps and reaches out to his brother.

At the last second, just before Sam’s hand drops down on his shoulder, Dean moves. “No,” he says again. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

The pain isn’t all his, not anymore. “Dean...” His vocabulary has been reduced to his brother’s name, and fresh tears well in his eyes. James isn’t an excuse for them anymore. “Dean, we should...”

“Should what, Sam? Just forget about the whole thing?” Dean scoffs and finally turns to look at his brother. His eyes are wide and wet, but his cheeks are dry. He’s had more time to get used to being back, and Sam counts his blessings that when he’d finally woken up, Dean hadn’t just vanished without a trace. “That’s the fuckin’ problem, Sam. I remember everything.”

Sam doesn’t look away. “I do too,” he says. “I remember, too.”

“Then why the fuck aren’t you freaking out, damn it ?” Dean explodes into motion, dragging Sam in by the collar of his shirt, fingers clenched so tight that his knuckles are bleached of color. The hem of Sam’s grey shirt starts to give and he quickly steps into Dean’s space to minimize the damage.

He wraps his hands loosely around Dean’s wrist, neither pulling or pushing. Just holding. “What’s the point?” he asks simply. “It happened. I can’t change it.”

Dean pushes him back, loosening his shirt and shaking off Sam’s hands. “Fuck this,” he mutters clearly. “I’m done.”

Since opening his eyes and finding himself inside the cabin he hasn’t seen for six months, the first flutters of fear take root in his stomach. “What?” he asks slowly, fingers clenching nervously. “What do you mean? Dean?”

“I mean I’m done, Sam. I’m out. I’m gone. You win.” Dean turns to the single, king-sized bed, and picks up the duffle that Sam hadn’t even noticed was unobtrusively sitting there. “I can’t do this.”

“Dean,” Sam says, panic exploding in his lungs and making it hard to breathe. “Dean, you can’t leave.”

Maybe Dean’s eyes aren’t entirely his own when he turns to look at Sam. “Isn’t it my turn?” he growls and Sam shivers. He’s not talking about Stanford.

It’s a losing battle and Sam sinks slowly into the closest chair. “I guess it’s high time you left me behind instead,” he whispers quietly. “Isn’t it.” It’s a rhetorical question and Dean nods once then retrieves his keys from wherever he’d left them. “Dean please,” he says it one last time, a last ditch effort. “I - I,” he stammers, pausing. “Please. I... love you.”

Dean’s smirk is hollow and empty. “Yeah,” he agrees, voice flat and cruel. “Isn’t that the fucking problem?” he slams the front door, and Sam listens desolately as the Impala starts up, engine roaring, and drives away.

He sits in silence for a long time, listening for any sign that Dean’s come back for him. It’s miles to the nearest town, not un-walkable, but Sam can’t get his head around it. Dean has left him. He reaches for the amulet around his neck, heartbeat quickening when he can’t feel it. Marcus had worn it first, Dean wore it last. And now the thing is gone.

Sam goes to his own duffle, unpacked and left behind. He reaches into a side pocket and switches on his cell phone. He doesn’t bother listening to any of the messages, they are all from Bobby and other hunters they’ve known in passing. He rings Castiel first. “Hey it’s me. It’s over. Come find me at the Nebraska cabin when you get this. I need to get back to Montana. Dean’s gone.”

He ends the phone call, throwing the phone back into his bag without looking at it again. Bobby can wait, and he needs to pack. He makes it through his clothes and the drawers of his things before he comes across Dean’s own amulet.

He’d left without it. Dean really isn’t coming back. Sam lies in bed that night praying for James to return, just for a little while. Oblivion is preferable to this.

It takes three days for Castiel to show up.

 

 

May, 2011  
Seven Months Earlier

It’s a nice house, all things considered, even if it’s a bit small. It’s the fourth place they’ve been to in as many hours and Sam can tell that Dean is getting bored and tired of hunting for a place to stay. The only difference in this house is the woman who owns it. She’s attractive enough to garner Dean’s attention and Sam thinks this will be the last place they look here.

“So, why Montana?” Sam asks, trying not to be annoyed as Dean gives the woman in front of them a rakish smirk. She turns her oddly-colored eyes on him and smiles a little. “I mean, I don’t want to pry.”

Risika’s accent is as odd as her eyes and when she laughs, Sam can see Dean swallow reflexively. “Asking me why I picked Montana as my place of residence is not quite so strange, Mr. Winchester. It was as good a place as any.”

“Then can I ask another question?” Sam asks with a smile. It isn’t often that the women they talk to ignore Dean and spend time meeting Sam’s eyes instead.

Her smile widens a little, showing off straight, white teeth. “Of course.”

He feels silly asking, but... “Where’s your accent from?”

Dean’s beginning to look put out when she doesn’t even glance at him, all her attention on his brother. Sam can see his slightly slumped shoulders out of the corner of his eye and when he meets Risika’s gaze again, there’s a glint of mischievousness in her expression. “My father was Russian,” she says, and it explains the deepened vowels and oddly pronounced w’s and v’s. “But my mother was Italian. And, I grew up in England.”

“That’s kind of an odd mix,” Dean interjects.

One of her slim shoulders raises in a half shrug. “I suppose. My husband,” her grin widens as she meets Sam’s gaze, “he finds my heritage interesting.”

“Husband?” Dean parrots, scowling when Sam snickers.

“Da,” she answers and smiles just a little bit wider when a door somewhere behind them bangs open. “Gentlemen, my husband, Fredrick.”

The man is about as tall as Dean, with hair slightly too long to be fashionable but shorter than Sam’s own. “Yes,” he says in a thick British accent. “I’m her husband, Fredrick.” He offers them a smile that turns slightly guarded when he looks at Dean. “May I ask what it is you’re doing here?”

Risika turns in her seat, dislodging the necklace she is wearing from the folds of her shirt. “This is Sam, and his brother, Dean. They are here to rent the loft from us.”

Fredrick blinks and gives his wife a significant look. “Brothers?” he murmurs, quiet enough that Sam has to strain to hear him.

“Da.” She murmurs something else but the language is clearly Russian and Sam only took a few semesters of Spanish. “Kak vashi dela?” she asks next and Fredrick gives her a small smile.

“I must admit, I was a little nervous at finding two strange men in my house with my lovely ‘Sika here,” he says to Sam and Dean. “Especially you, young man.” Though Fredrick can’t be more than a few years older than Dean himself, he comes across as surprisingly stern and Dean blinks at his remonstrating gaze. “But we’ve been looking for renters for quite some time.”

Sam smiles. “We’re looking for a vacation,” he says. “We’ve had a rough...” He glances at Dean, who shares his knowing look.

“Year,” Dean supplies. “It’s been a rough year.”

Risika’s gaze sharpens, but she says nothing for which Sam is thankful for.

“So,” Fredrick says breaking the sudden tension, “What brings you two to Montana? Other than your uncommonly rough year?” He seats himself beside Risika, and she leans to one side, pressing their shoulders together. Though the touch isn’t sexual, it’s clearly intimate and Sam is forced to look away, the motion reminding him of Jess, and everything he has lost.

“It was just an idea,” Sam answers. “And if we can’t find a place around here, then we’ll move on.” He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s not Montana itself.”

“It’s truly beautiful here,” Risika says, looking out the window of their kitchen. “Of all the places to be, I am glad we’re here.” She shares a smile with Fredrick and Dean sighs, looking a little perturbed.

“Rent is six hundred a month, and you’ve got the whole upstairs,” Fredrick says, a little too loudly, “Unfortunately, the kitchen is incomplete so you have to use the kitchen down here for the oven or the stove.” He smiles once, sheepish. “Two bedrooms, a family room and a bathroom though.”

He turns his dark-eyed gaze to his wife and it’s like they are having an entire conversation without speaking. The hair on the back of Sam’s neck stands on end and he shifts uncomfortably. They’re nice, and he likes them, but something about them just seems... off.

“If you like,” Risika chimes in, “you may join us for dinner. Those who cook don’t have to clean.”

Dean smiles at her, completely relaxed. Whatever Sam has just felt, Dean clearly hasn’t. “That’d be nice.” He shoots a look at Sam. “Why don’t Sam and I cook - or, well, I’ll cook because Sammy can burn water - tonight? To show our thanks.”

Fredrick’s entire face brightens when he smiles. “We’d like that.”

Sam gets the impression that he really means it.

 

 

After unpacking their duffels which took only a rather pathetic twenty minutes, Dean leads Sam down the stairs towards the kitchen. He can just barely hear the murmur of voices when Dean stops him with a hand on his chest.

“...you saw them, my lyublyu, you did not divulge that they were going to be brothers_” Sam can hear Risika hiss.

“Because they did not act like brothers when I Saw them_” Fredrick hisses back. “When you Looked at them, what did you See?”

“The medallion didn’t chose incorrectly,” Risika grudgingly admits. “They are soul mates.”

 

Dean shoots a look at Sam, who can only shrug. The information isn’t exactly new, Castiel had told them as much when they were in Heaven. But how Risika knew...

“Who would be so cruel?” Fredrick murmurs. “As to put the other half of your soul in your own brother?”

“We can’t tell them that,” Risika says, and she sounds closer to the kitchen door than before. “They already know.”

Sam grips Dean’s arm tightly but Dean shakes his head, motioning him to be quiet.

“We have to tell them something,” Fredrick argues, and they can hear Risika laugh.

“There is nothing to tell, my Fredrick. They are standing behind the door.” It swings open and her smile widens. “Please, come join our conversation.”

Dean walks into the room with a scowl fixed on his face. “Okay. You two have some explaining to do,” he says. “Like how you two know about us.”

“We’re psychic,” Fredrick supplies. “I should have thought that would have been obvious.” He turns a little to Sam and gives him a small smile.

Sam winces. “Psychics?” He knew it.

Risika grins and it completely transforms her face. “We are not,” she tells him with a conspiratorial wink. “Your average brand of psychics.”

Dean’s scowl deepens. “Explain.”

“I get visions, in my sleep. They aren’t painful, merely...” Fredrick trails off, struggling to find a word.

“Annoying,” Risika supplies for him.

“Yes. Annoying. I often see things that are happening or just about to before they do.” He grimaces. “Never in time to do anything about it, or stop the events from happening though. Except for once.” He turns to Risika and gives her a soft smile. “One night, I dreamt of fire, and a girl burning on a stage in a circle of flames.”

“It was me,” Risika says, picking up on the narrative. “I was living over a bar, where I would sing for my supper, literally. It was not... a normal bar. Many... monsters dined there.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow. “A bar for the Supernatural?” he asks.

“Da,” she answers. “You know something of it?”  
Sam glances at Dean, who nods. “We’re hunters,” Sam says. “We know a little more than something.”

“It was hunters who burned the bar,” Fredrick says, his voice hard. “I arrived just before them and convinced Risika to come out into the alley with me.”

She grins, gesturing expansively. “It didn’t take much. The minute we touched, I knew. You see, before I had a word to label my talents with, I used to say I could see Soul. An aura, if you will, around people. When he touched me, we lit up the whole alley.”

Fredrick pulls her close and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “If ever I believed in fate, gentlemen, it was in that moment. The only vision I ever was early for, saved the life of my soul mate.” He gazes at the brothers curiously. “How did you know?”

“We died,” Dean says shortly. “And when we were in Heaven, all roads led to Sam.”

Unbelievably, Sam can feel himself blushing as Fredrick and Risika grin at him. “Stunningly well said,” Fredrick murmurs. “All roads lead to home.” He glances at Risika. “Do you think that should we ever merit the dignity of heaven, our roads would lead to each other?”

Her strangely colored eyes soften. “Da, of course.” Silence falls and Dean clears his throat. Instantly her gaze snaps to Dean’s, and he is favored with the full of her regard.

“Dean?” Sam asks, confused as Dean jerks back like he’s surprised.

When Dean turns to look at Sam, the moment is broken. “Um,” Dean says, voice hoarse. “Thought we were going to make y’all dinner?”

Whatever guard Risika is under seems to relax and she smiles. “Da, of course. You will find everything you need here.” She rises to her feet and when the light from the dying sun reflects around her, Sam can almost see a long, ruffled gown falling around her instead of the jeans she is wearing. “Sam?” She looks up at him. “Are you quite well?”

He swallows hard, but nods. “Y-yeah. I’m good.”

What had Dean seen in her eyes? And what had his own vision tricked him into seeing?

 

May, 2011

Sam gardens with Risika. It’s a little ridiculous how at home he is with it, passing her tools and hauling the heavy buckets of weeds and rocks away for her, even though she looks more than capable of doing it on her own. She only smiles sweetly at him and murmurs her thanks. Sometimes, she sings to him, low and under her breath in a mismatch of languages that has Sam’s curiosity peaked.

He digs into the dirt with his bare hands, and finally Risika laughs softly. “Why are you out here with me, Sam?” she asks.

“I like using my hands, and Dean hates it when I work on his car,” he answers honestly. “And I like listening to you sing.”

Her smile brightens and Sam can feel the back of his neck burn with a blush. “When my Fredrick mentioned that we should rent out our top floor, I did not imagine it would be to such handsome men.” She winks at him. “Not that I am complaining, mind.”

Sam laughs, returning the wink. “I get the impression that Fredrick doesn’t like us nearly as much.”

Placing the trowel on the damp ground beside her, Risika tilts her head back, looking thoughtful. “My husband is a jealous man,” she acknowledges. “He finds himself lacking in many respects, and because of this, feels that I am shorting myself for being with him.” Sam blinks at her and she turns her eyes on him. “He’s an idiot,” she deadpans, and he laughs again.

Sam idly draws devil traps and other signs in the dirt by his knee as he thinks about his response. “I think Dean feels the same way,” he offers quietly. “He feels like I’m always going to leave him, even when I come back.”

“You two are too young,” Risika comments softly, “to feel such loss.”

Sam shrugs one shoulder. “We’re older than we look.”

Her smile flashes, quick and bright. “I understand something of that.”   
When Sam turns to look at her, he catches her eyes again, and she looks as old as she sounds when she says it. He frowns, compelled, and blurts out, “how old are you anyway?”

She laughs and the spell is broken. “A lady never tells,” she says with a wink. Moment over, Risika goes back to turning over dirt for the plants sitting by the edge of the house in a row. Occasionally though, Sam can see her reach up and finger the glinting medallion around her neck, cupping it in her hands, like she wants to protect it.

“Can I ask you something?”

She doesn’t stop what she’s doing, but her lips turn up in a small grin. “You just did, but you may ask me something else.”

“That whole conversation about... Dean and I, and how we’re soul-mates?” It makes her pause and look up at him again, laying her hands in her lap. “Were you waiting for us? Specifically us?”

Her small smile widens into a full grin and she chuckles. “You are very perceptive, Sam. I’ll give you that.” Risika eyes him shrewdly. “Something to do with that power you’ve been ignoring?”

Sam goes cold. He shouldn’t be surprised, considering she has figured everything else out about him. “It’s... I haven’t... it isn’t natural.”

Risika snorts out a laugh. “Of course it isn’t. None of this is.” She waves a hand. “Maybe whatever cursed me with my power didn’t curse you with yours... but there is darkness in everyone, Sam.” She turns to look at him and again, there’s something in his eyes. The gown she wears in this image is long and black, and when she turns her head, her hair is shadowed by the lace parasol that hides her from the sun.

He jerks back and blinks, and the images are gone, like they were never there. “I think you and your husband have some explaining to do,” he says quietly.

“All in due time,” she answers, leaning over to pat him on the arm. “When the time comes, we’ll tell you everything.”

“Dean’s not going to be happy with that answer,” Sam tells her.

She nudges him shoulder to shoulder with a familiarity that should surprise him, but doesn’t. “Fredrick will take care of your Dean.” He gazes at her for a long moment before she smiles again, putting him instantly at ease. “Go get those flowers for me?” she asks, “I think this bed is about ready.”

The words are innocent, but there’s something else there.

 

 

Sam’s out in the back yard with Risika so Dean makes his way downstairs towards the small office where he’d last seen Fredrick slip into. “Look,” he says without further preamble, startling Fredrick behind his large, wooden desk. “We need to talk.”

He sighs once, leaning his elbows on his desk and chuckles. “I wondered how long it would take you to come down here,” he says in his thick accent. “Took longer than I wagered.”

“Wagered?” Dean asks, sharply. “Wagered what?”

“Well you’re just the suspicious one, aren’t you?” Fredrick says, laughing openly. “Risika told me it wouldn’t take you but a day to corner me. I said three. It’s been four.”

Confused, Dean doesn’t even realize that he’s been expertly sidetracked. “So what’s that mean?” he asks, bemused.

“We both lose.” Fredrick grins at him, open and honest. “What did you want to talk about?”  
Dean blinks. “Right. I can get that you’re psychic. Really, met more than my fair share of them. So why did it sound like you were waiting for us specifically?”

Fredrick’s smile dims very slightly. “Because I was, more or less. I saw... something. I didn’t see Sam, but I saw you. And I knew you were coming.” He glances out the window for a second before continuing. “We’ve had a few people come and ask about the apartment, but none of them ever... fit. You two, you fit. Maybe it’s because you’re soul mates, or maybe it’s because Risika liked you the minute she saw you. Either way, you’re here so what does it matter?”

Dean thinks about it for a second before nodding. “Yeah, okay. You said you only saw the future once, for Risika.” He doesn’t mean to sound accusing but years have honed the tone.

Despite it, Fredrick’s smile brightens. “Yes, well... I lied.”

And Dean can appreciate that. He shrugs one shoulder, a half smile softening the lines of his face. “Okay.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “So why me and Sam?”

Fredrick spreads his hands. “That question should go to my wife. She can see the colors of your Soul.”

Dean is silent for a long moment before he finally asks, “Where’s your accent from?”

Fredrick laughs and laughs. “I should think that would be obvious. I’m an Englishman.”

“So that’s why Risika sounds like you. Sort of.” Dean looks thoughtful for a second. “Look, I’m sorry if... you know. I just, things have been... I have to protect my brother.”

Fredrick’s lips lift in an approximation of a smile. “I have a brother too, Mr. Winchester. But I wouldn’t die for him.”

Dean chuckles humorlessly. “I’ve been told that before,” he says. “It’s never stopped either of us.”

Fredrick looks at him curiously. “How many times have you died?” he asks, like the whole concept is a joke.

“Enough times to count.” Fredrick stares at him, like he’s waiting for Dean to start laughing but as the seconds stretch by into minutes, he seems to realize that no one is joking and things are very serious indeed.

“How?” he asks quietly.

“The first time was Sam, he was in a fight, and thought the man he was against would fight fair. He was stabbed in the back. I made a deal with a demon for Sam’s return, and I had a year to live; the hell hounds dragged me to hell. I was gone for four months.” Dean recites everything in monotone as Fredrick gets paler and paler. “The next time, we died together, shot by two other hunters with a grudge. I guess technically, Sam’s died three times, except the last time wasn’t a normal death.”

“Normal death?” Fredrick says, with a funny little smile. “How are any of those other deaths defined as normal? Considering the first one was the most natural and he was resurrected?” Fredrick chuckles. “No, you’ve definitely got the cake on weird things.”

Dean quirked a smile. “Cake? Is there cake?”

“Not unless Risika bakes it. Good luck convincing her.” He shoots Dean another grin, and Dean feels himself responding in kind. He’s affable, and Dean finds himself liking Fredrick in spite of himself.

“I bet I could,” Dean says with a wink.

Fredrick gives him a severe look, tempered only by the mirth dancing in his brown eyes. Dean’s grin widens and he laughs. “You’re a sly one,” Fredrick allows with a small smirk. “Come work with me at the bar. I could use people like you behind the counter.”

Dean looks surprised for a second before the expression is wiped clean. “You really want me to work with you? You don’t even like me.” Fredrick opens his mouth, maybe to protest or agree but Dean holds up a hand. “Don’t, it’s fine. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Your wife is safe from me. I might be a bit of a man-whore,” he says with a self deprecating grin. “But I’m not a poacher. Or a home wrecker.”

Fredrick waves a hand. “I’m not worried. Not really. But when you have such a... well, have you seen my wife?”

Dean chuckles. “I have, yeah. She’s hot.” Fredrick rolls his eyes as Dean laughs. “You don’t have to worry about it though. And I’ll come work with you at the bar. We need jobs anyway, yeah?” Movement at the window catches his attention and he looks over towards it. Sam looks up and gives Dean a smile and a wave.

When Dean looks back at Fredrick there’s a knowing smile on his face. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d have said you weren’t brothers.”

With a grimace, Dean scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah... we get that a lot.” He doesn’t think too hard about why it doesn’t bother him anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean find an amulet that lets the restless souls of their past selves live for six months, it’s a way to mend broken bridges and let soul-mates who may have lost their chance at happiness find some again. Marcus and James live for six months, but it’s Sam and Dean who must face the consequences of their actions.

| 2 |

I was a highwayman, along the coach-roads I did ride  
A sword and pistol by my side

Risika likes to dance when she cooks, she sings under her breath, sweeping gracefully from one end of the kitchen to the other. Dean helps her, because working in a garden will never be his thing, but he likes working in the kitchen. And Sam still burns water.

“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Winchester?” Risika asks, leaning her hip against the counter top as the water begins to heat up.

Dean grins. “You just did.”

Her expression is unimpressed and she sighs like she hears it all the time. “Another question, then.” He nods. “What brought you into hunting?”

“Our father did. A demon killed our mother when Sam was just six months old, and it dragged our dad into the world. He dragged us.” Dean drops some salt into the water, adds a little oil. “Why?”

“I am...” she thinks for a second. “Incurably curious.” Her nose wrinkles a little when she smiles. “You would be amazed at what you can see when you can see Soul, but it tells me nothing of why.”

He grins a little wider. “Why does the why matter?”

“I simply wish to know you,” she says. “Is there a problem with that?”

Dean scowls. “No. I guess not.” He regards her frankly as she adds in the pasta to the boiling water. “What do you want to know? Other than the hunting shit.”

Her grin flashes across her face. “What kind of a man are you, Dean Winchester?” Dean doesn’t answer right away, looking pensive. Her amused look fades quickly and she frowns. “Did I make you uncomfortable again?”

“No, not uncomfortable.” Dean looks down at the water before dumping pasta into it. “I just don’t know how to answer the question.”

“Then I rescind it.” She hands him the strainer and takes a few steps away to give him space. “Spaseebo,” she adds. “For cooking with me.”

Dean quirks a brow. “Does that mean thank you?”

“Da. I apologize, I am used to Fredrick, who speaks passable Russian.”

He smiles suddenly and to her utter surprise, says, “yeban’ko maloetnee.”

She bursts out laughing, covering her mouth with one hand. “Where... did you learn that?”

“Some girl I dated was half Russian. She used to call me that.” Dean suddenly looks worried. “Why?”

“She was calling you an adolescent jerk.” Dean’s eyes go wide and he drops the wooden spoon in the water. “You didn’t know?” Dean shakes his head and she’s laughing again. “If you like, I can teach you the real swears. I’m quite good at them.” She winks and he joins her when she laughs.

Dean nods. “Definitely.”

“What is your swear of choice? In English.” She pulls the grocery pad off of the refrigerator and pulls a pen out of the drawer.

“Shit. Damn. Fuck. The normal ones.”

Risika taps the pen on the paper before writing a few things down. “I have written them phonetically so you can pronounce them.” She points to the first one on the page. “This is pronounced ‘zhopa’. It means ‘ass.’”

They work their way through the list and by the time dinner is on the table, Dean is fluent in Russian curses.

 

The first time Sam and Dean see Risika in action, she’s shouting something at Fredrick. It’s a long and winding twist of words in Russian that seem fairly violent. Fredrick, for his part, just looks amused and waits her out. Sam spares a second to wonder what they have been arguing about before she resorts to Russian, but Fredrick doesn’t look upset enough for it to be a new argument for it to be anything new.

“Um,” Dean says, a little involuntarily and both Risika and Fredrick look at him.

“Don’t feel bad, boys,” Fredrick says with a rueful grin after Risika falls silent and the ring   
of angry Russian fades from the air. “The only thing I know to say is useless.”

“What can you say?” Sam asks, as Risika glares at them.

“Moio sudno na vozdusnoy poduske polno ugrey.” Sam and Dean exchange a look before glancing at Fredrick. “It means ‘my hovercraft is full of eels’.”

Risika rolls her eyes, and turns away to stare out the window. “You speak passable Russian,” she says grudgingly. “And you are changing the subject.”   
Fredrick sighs once, long and slow. “My love, arguing the same point over and over will not make the time pass any slower.”

“I do not understand how you can be so cavalier about this,” she says, still looking out the window. Her voice trembles and Sam gets the feeling that she’s trying not to cry.

“What else can I be?” he asks her gently.

“This is not a joking matter,” she says tightly. “There is little more than a week left.”

Suddenly the air tightens around them and Sam glances at Dean. They’ve definitely interrupted something big this time. “That’s enough, my ‘Sika,” Fredrick says, his voice cracking like a whip through the air. “If that’s all the time we have, we will make the most of it. Not argue until the day we leave.”

Dean is dying to ask what they’re talking about, but Risika’s violent glare dissuades him. He jerks his head at Sam who follows him upstairs. Dean hands him the lap top silently, gesturing. Sam nods once, listening for the hushed sounds of their hosts arguing.

He opens a new webpage and begins the search. They are Fredrick and Risika Carrington, living at 8729 Bellmont Way in Billings, Montana. That’s a good enough place to start as any.

Ten minutes later and Sam’s not sure what to tell Dean. According to the yellow-pages, there is no such a person as Fredrick Carrington. Not at the address they’re staying at. However, there is a Micah Carrington, and a Lynn Cooney listed instead.

They’d been played, and played well. “Dean.”

His brother looks up and scowls at the look on Sam’s face. “I don’t like that face, Sammy. That face tells me nothing good.”

“Look, I did a search... and the people who live here? Their names are Lynn Cooney and Micah Carrington. Their pictures almost match but... Lynn’s hair is way blonder than Risika’s, and Micah’s eyes are blue not brown. I don’t understand.” Sam scratches the back of his head as he leans back. “If I had some other last name to search for, I’d look up Fredrick and Risika. But I’ve got nothing left to go on.”

“So, we ask them.” Dean smiles and it’s sharp, without warmth. “Damn it. Man, I liked it here.”

Sam nods. “Yeah. Me too.”

That’s all there is to say about it. No use making it worse.

 

 

 

They avoid their hosts for a few days before Sam gets up the courage to speak to them. Dean is already itching to get going, ditch and run before something happens. Sam doesn’t think something’s up until he sees Risika’s necklace on the bedside table in Dean’s room.

Something about it strikes him as odd, or off. He only knows that it bothers him and he wants it nowhere near his brother. “Dean,” he finally says. “Why do you have Risika’s necklace?”

Dean’s eyes slide to the glass medallion that’s laying so innocently on the table. “I... don’t know,” he says finally. “I found it in my laundry two nights ago.”

Now Sam knows something is off. “Let’s go,” he says, and pretends not to notice when Dean reaches out to snag the medallion from the table.

Risika and Fredrick are waiting for them, and Risika’s neck looks strangely bare without the necklace he’s gotten used to seeing there. “It’s time,” she says, and it isn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Sam responds. “It really is.”

She smiles a little. “By now you’ve probably realized that this house is owned by a Micah Carrington and a Lynn Cooney. People who look a little like us, but not quite enough to fool a picture.” Sam nods once. “Da, well. I am Lynnie Cooney. I’m just a past version of her.”

Sam snorts. “You’re a past self of her? What like, reincarnation?”

“Da. Risika Derevko was born in St. Petersburg, Russia...in 1867. I died in 1913.”

Fredrick breaks in gently. “I was born in 1852, but I died much earlier on. In 1889.”

“So...,” Sam murmurs. “What? How did you get here?”

“The amulet. It’s Celtic in origin, but my research skills are very little since I left the Constabulary in London,” Fredrick says, vaguely amused. “From what I understand, the Medallion chooses two pairs of soul mates who lost their first chances at love.”

“How long did it give you?” Dean asks.

“Six months.” They speak in unison and the brothers exchange a look.

Sam thinks for a second, and worries at his bottom lip with his teeth. “That’s what your argument was about. You don’t have much time left.”

Risika nods. “A day. Maybe a little more. Now it’s your turn.”

Alarmed, Sam turns to Dean. “I don’t want it to be our turn. Give back the amulet.”

“I’m sorry, boys,” Fredrick says. “But you don’t have any choice. Enjoy your time together now, while you can. It’ll be six months before you see each other again.” He stands and draws Risika with him. “If you’ll excuse us.”

They leave the room before Sam or Dean can stop them. “Dean...” Sam murmurs.

“Don’t, Sam.”

There isn’t much left to say, anyway.

 

 

 

Dean follows Sam into his bedroom that night, dressed in his sleep-wear and looking a little anxious. The glass medallion hangs next to the amulet he usually has on, and Sam can’t look away for a minute. “Do you really think that we’re next?” Dean asks.

“Did we suddenly get good luck while we weren’t looking?” Sam only partially jokes. “Look, take it off, okay? Maybe it’s when you’re touching it.”

His brother pulls it over his head and drops it on the table. “Better?”

“Yeah.”

They stand together, awkwardly before Dean sits down in the chair beside his bed. “Come on, Sammy. Let’s try to get some sleep.”

Sam gives in. He gets into the bed, and turns towards his brother. “Hey, Dean...?”

“Shut up, Sam.” Sam falls asleep with Dean sitting in the chair beside his bed, breathing slowly. It’s oddly comforting, and Sam hadn’t realized he’d missed hearing it. In the past year, there hasn’t been a lot of sleeping. Or a lot of sharing. Sam can’t remember the last time he fell asleep with Dean in the same room as him. Dean’s usually gone while he falls asleep and out for breakfast by the time he wakes.

So he shuts up, and when he wakes up in the morning, Dean is someone else entirely. Someone with brown eyes and a British accent who holds himself entirely unlike his brother. It’s Dean’s body sitting beside him, but Dean is just... gone.

It doesn’t take Risika long to figure it out. Her entire face crumples and she begins to cry silently. “I am so, so sorry,” she tells him. “I didn’t want this.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, as Fredrick enters the room, looking pale and wan. “Me either.”

There are tears running down Risika’s face, and Fredrick’s own expression twists with anguish. “It hasn’t been long enough,” he begs her, clinging to her fingers like a life line.   
“Six months is nothing.”

She presses her fingers to his trembling lips. “No, my Fredrick,” she says almost calmly, only her breathing giving away her emotions, “six months is everything.”

Sam looks between the two of them, then to the man who looks like Dean but isn’t. “How does this work?” he asks faintly. “Why is my brother... now this...” He flounders for the name but comes up empty.

“Marcus,” supplies not-Dean, in his lightly accented voice. “And, believe you me, a part of me is still your brother. A very large part.” He gives Sam a tentative smile which Sam ignores.

Even through the sorrow swamping his expression, Fredrick manages to seem amused. “Ah yes,” he says softly, eyes still locked on Risika’s. “That you’re being brothers was slightly unprecedented.”

Risika tears her gaze away from her husband’s to look at Sam, wiping at her face to clean away the tears. “I picked up the amulet first,” she explains. “So, I will give up my half-life first.”

Fredrick makes a small noise, half way between a cry and a whimper. “I suppose it’s only fair,” he chokes out, tears finally over flowing. “I left you the first time.”

It takes Risika visible effort not to pull Fredrick close. “Sam, D-Marcus. When our turns are up, it will be yours, yours and whoever else Sam will be.” She isn’t looking at them anymore.

Not-Dean smiles brilliantly. “His name is James.”

Sam winces. “He’s not your brother, is he?”

“No,” not-Dean says with a huff of laughter. “He was the son of the king.”

Sam... isn’t touching that one with a ten foot pole. “How much time do I have?” he asks instead. “I should call Bobby, let him know... what’s going on. If I can even explain it.”

“Not much,” Risika murmurs. “I can already hear her return.”

Fredrick makes another noise and catches Risika’s wrist in his hands. He yanks her in close, holding her tightly. “I love you,” he whispers desperately. “God, my ‘Sika, how I love you.”

Her hair already two shades lighter than it had been ten minutes before, Risika lays a tender kiss upon the side of Fredrick’s neck. “Dobrey den, my Fredrick. Until we meet again.” He gathers her close when she collapses.

With shaking hands, Fredrick lifts the amulet off the floor where not-Dean has dropped it. “Here,” he says, flat and unemotional. “Take it, Sam. It’s yours now.”

Sam feels his arm reach out and grab it, even though he’s told himself to take a step backward away from the cursed necklace. For the first time, he willingly looks at not-Dean. “Are you sure that I’m meant to be this James guy?”

Not-Dean’s face is solemn. “Aye,” he answers quietly. “If this trinket does as he says it does,” not-Dean transfers his brown eyed gaze to the silent Fredrick, “then it will reunite me with my lost love.”

“How did you die?” Sam asks slowly.

Not-Dean looks down and away. “I was hanged,” he says, very, very quietly. “James didn’t save me.”

Pain fills Sam and he isn’t sure if it’s the way not-Dean says it, or the amulet he holds, but he finds himself taking a reflexive step forward. “That’s not,” he says, the words unbidden, “what happened.” His mouth is moving, he can hear the words, but he has no idea why he’s saying them. “Marcus, I was trapped, too. My father, he locked me in our root cellar, there was no way out.”

The hope on not-Dean’s face is heart breaking when the feeling falls away and leaves Sam to himself. “James?” he asks and Sam is forced to look down.

“No,” he says flatly. “Not yet.” He turns back to the silent Fredrick. “How does this work? Why you two? Why us?”

Fredrick laughs, but it’s hollow and empty. Sam shivers. “We were chosen because Lynnie is a lesbian. Mike, that’s me... he’s her best friend. He’s also been in love with her for the last seven years. When Risika and I took over, it was an easy enough fix. But, brothers... that will be harder to overcome once Marcus and James leave you behind.”

“What if I... I don’t know, ditch the thing and not give in?” Not-Dean makes a wounded sound and takes half a step forward while Fredrick laughs.

“Wouldn’t work,” he says. “It’d find you.” He sifts a hand through Lynnie’s hair. “You two should get going. Figure out what you can do before you lose yourself entirely.”

“What are... you going to do?” not-Dean asks hesitantly.

Fredrick offers him a small smile. “Sit here with her until I go back to sleep forever. And pray quietly that it hasn’t ruined everything.”

Not-Dean stands fluidly, turning to go upstairs where their things are. “I will pack,” he offers, not looking at Sam.

Sam nods before realizing that not-Dean can’t see him. “I’ll make all the phone calls.” He withdraws to the kitchen, already dialing Bobby’s number, glad for the space.

“Yeah?” Bobby answers gruffly. “Sam?”

“Hey, Bobby.” He pauses for a second, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Dean and I... sort of ran into something here.”

“Shit,” Bobby swears and it makes Sam smile. “What is it?”

Sam wets his lips. He can feel an alien presence in the back of his head, the mysterious James, hiding there, waiting for his moment. “Well... there was this amulet. Medallion, thing. It um, brings back the past lives of the wearers. It works in two’s.”

“It got Dean?” Bobby asks and Sam can hear him flipping pages in the back ground.

“Yeah. I’m next.” The grin in the back of his head widens just a little bit. “My name was James, apparently.”

Bobby blows out a breath. “Does the curse have a time limit? Or are you stuck forever?”

“Six months.”

“That doesn’t sound... so bad,” Bobby says. “At least then it’ll be over and we can destroy the amulet then,” he offers. “What’s the catch?”

“Marcus - that’s Dean - and James - that’s me... they’re lovers.” Sam says it all in one rush, wincing and leaning his head on the cold glass of the window pane.

“Well,” Bobby says after a moment. “That’s... awkward.”

Sam laughs, and it sounds as hollow as Fredrick’s. “Yeah. I... he... we haven’t got much time.”

“I’ll hold down the fort, son. You keep your head up and survive the next six months. I’ll do my research here and have it ready when you get back. Go to my cabin in Nebraska. Ain’t no one there who’ll bother you.”

“Okay. Thanks, Bobby,” Sam says, sighing as one of the weights on his shoulders lifts. “I’m going to call Castiel next. I’ll leave a voicemail. Try to get in touch with him. We’ll be okay.”

He can hear Bobby smiling. “You better. Idjit.”

Sam hangs up the phone, already feeling a little better. He can always count on Bobby in a sticky situation. He presses speed dial 4, expecting the monotonous voice to answer, letting him know that the number he has dialed cannot be reached and to please leave a message. The same message he’s gotten every time he’s tried calling Castiel since returning from Hell.

“Hey, Cas,” he says when the phone beeps. “It’s Sam. We’ve gotten ourselves into something big, and we won’t be around for a while. Get in touch with Bobby, he’ll tell you everything.”

He disconnects, unsettled. He really, really doesn’t want to go upstairs and face not-Dean. Steeling himself, Sam makes his way into the living room and skirts around the tableau in the middle. Fredrick’s hair is slightly shorter now, and much lighter than the dark chocolate brown he’s grown used to seeing. He hurries up the stairs, and is immediately greeted by not-Dean. “You’re not James, not yet.”

Sam feels almost sad when he answers, “No.”

Not-Dean nods. “I understand. Perhaps that is best, as I am knowledgeable in the ways of Dean, but not in the ways of how to act in this... time.” He gnaws on his lower lip for a second. “Perhaps, we should find a place where no one can find us?”

Flinching, Sam turns away. “Look, can you just... pretend to be my brother for a minute?”

Not-Dean blinks. “I am your brother, Samuel. I still remember how to be your brother. Dean is here, he is aware.”

Sam holds up a hand. “Stop. That just makes this whole thing worse.” He sighs again - he’s been doing this a lot lately. “Are we all packed?”

“Ah, aye. I believe so.” Not-Dean looks around them. “I packed everything I recognized.”

Comfortable with the plan, Sam holds open the door. “Let’s go. I know where we’re going. Hopefully we’ll get there before James shows up.”

“Aye,” not-Dean says with a glint of humor in his gaze. “I imagine that would end badly. For the car.”

He feels a laugh bubble up from somewhere. “Yeah. Let’s go.” He ushers not-Dean down the stairs and out to the car, turning at the last second to the silent Fredrick. “I thought I should say good bye.”

Fredrick looks up, eyes and cheeks damp. “Thank you. Of all the people in the world, I am glad it was you who found us at this juncture. I am glad the amulet has passed to you.” He offers him a small smile. “Thank you. And, good luck. I’m sure you’ll require it, on the road you’re traveling.”

Sam frowns. “You, too.” He shuts the door, looking out at the car. Dean - or, rather not-Dean leans against the front end, head tilted down. It’s such a Dean-like pose that for a moment, Sam can pretend that the last two hours was all a dream.

“Samuel,” not-Dean calls over in his accent, shattering the illusion, “we mustn’t tarry.” Another laugh bubbles up from somewhere, and this one is slightly tinged with hysteria. Dean, his brother who frequently mangles the English language, just used ‘mustn’t’ and ‘tarry’ correctly in a sentence. Sam closes his eyes to get his composure and not-Dean takes that moment to continue speaking. “Samuel,” he says, not a little sharply, “I understand how difficult this must be for you to bear, but truly, I do not wish to have an accident.”

That does it. Sam loses the thin thread of control on his laughter and he slides down the steps to sit on the bottom one, head in his hands, laughing helplessly. Thankfully, not-Dean doesn’t touch him when he comes up to sit beside him. “I don’t think,” Sam says quietly, laughter finally under control, “you realize how strange you sound to me.”

There’s a slight quirk to not-Dean’s lips when Sam looks up at him. “I believe I do,” he says gently. “You sound equally as strange to me.”

Sam takes one last fortifying breath and stands smoothly. “Come on,” he says. “You’re right, we mustn’t tarry.” He offers a hand to not-Dean who takes it instantly to lever himself up.

Sam does the only thing he can do. He gets into the car and drives away.

 

 

The cabin is devoid of anything useful. The power turns on easily enough but the icebox is empty and the cupboards are bare. “Crap,” Sam swears softly. “Can you chop wood?”

Not-Dean grins. “Silly question to ask the son of a farmer.”

“Stockpile our wood for us. I need to... go shopping.” Sam turns from not-Dean, fingering the keys.

“Wait,” not-Dean requests, one warm hand closing around Sam’s forearm. “Promise me that you’ll return.”

“Yeah,” Sam answers. “Of course I’m coming back. I’ll be back in like an hour.”

Not-Dean chews on his lip for a moment before letting go of Sam’s arm. “I will hold you to that, Samuel.”

When not-Dean lets him go, Sam gratefully moves out of the way and makes his escape. He drives too fast to the nearest town, already making mental calculations in his head. They have roughly a thousand dollars saved from working around Billings while staying with Fredrick and Risika. They’re going to have blow it all on food.

And they are going to be there for six months.

In the end, it takes him almost two hours before he gets back to the cabin. He pulls up to the drive, taking a minute before getting out of the car. He’s painfully aware that he’s almost out of time.

Not-Dean practically flings himself down the steps of the front porch and into Sam’s arms before he’s even shut the Impala door.

Sam has half a second to blink before not-Dean’s lips are on his, and they’re kissing. At least, not-Dean’s kissing him and Sam finally gathers enough of his scattered brain cells to push him away. “Not James,” he says shortly to not-Dean’s confused look.

“Still?” not-Dean complains. “It has been many hours, why are you fighting this?” Not-Dean pouts and Sam has to struggle not to laugh.

“We need someone who understands how everything works right now. We need the cabin ready, we’re going to be here for six months,” Sam answers instead of laughing.

Not-Dean looks down and away. “I want my James back, Samuel. And every minute you dawdle and delay, the less time together we have. Please. Stop this.” Not-Dean’s fingers hook into Sam’s belt loops and tug him forward.

Sam opens his mouth, fully planning on protesting the closeness, or maybe even agree, he’s not entirely sure anymore, but what feels like a shoulder tap gains his attention. Then suddenly, like waves crashing over his head, he feels himself go under.

He’s now the rueful smile in the back of his own head. James has taken over.

Time’s up.


	3. A Place to Rest My Spirit

_**A Place to Rest my Spirit 3/5**_  
 **Title:** A Place to Rest My Spirit  
 **Author:** Miss ‘Drea  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word Count:** ~21,000  
 **Beta:** dH, [](http://blackcathollow.livejournal.com/profile)[ **blackcathollow**](http://blackcathollow.livejournal.com/)   ,[](http://jassy3399.livejournal.com/profile)[ **jassy3399**](http://jassy3399.livejournal.com/)    
 **Pairing:** Sam/Dean, OMC/OFC  
 **Summary** : Sam and Dean find an amulet that lets the restless souls of their past selves live for six months, it’s a way to mend broken bridges and let soul-mates who may have lost their chance at happiness find some again. Marcus and James live for six months, but it’s Sam and Dean who must face the consequences of their actions.  
 **Disclaimer** : Gamble, Kripke and Singer own everything. Fredrick and Risika are mine. 100% literally.

  
  


  


  


| 3 |

  
  


 _many a young maid lost her baubles to my trade  
many a soldier shed his life blood on my blade_

  
  
  
  


Month 1

  
“Marcus?” James asks, blinking away the fog of a six hundred year long sleep, focusing on a face not quite his lover’s.

It breaks out into a grin that’s all Marcus. “James?” he asks, and the voice is lower, deeper pitched but everything about the man is Marcus.

“Of course it’s me,” James says crossly. “Who else would it be?” He gives Marcus a smile and a wink.

“Thank the Lord,” Marcus breathes, tugging James closer. “I thought you’d never return, Jem.”

James grins wider, running one hand through Marcus’ shorn hair. “I’m here now.”

“Aye,” Marcus agrees, just before drawing back and striking James full on in the face, splitting his lip. “You complete and utter bastard_” he shouts, pulling away. “You couldn’t even have the decency to grant me one last bloody visit in the jail before they killed me? Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

Rubbing his jaw and wiping away the blood, James winces. “I know,” he answers roughly. “My sister let me out of the root cellar and informed me that...” his voice breaks “that you’d been executed.”

Marcus pulls back even further, crossing his arms over his chest. “You didn’t know?”

“I knew that you had been imprisoned, same as I,” James admits. “But that you were scheduled to be hanged without trial? No. Lord, no, Marc. I didn’t know.”

Marcus’ face softens without his permission. “Jem,” he murmurs. “My God, how I have missed you.”

This time when Marcus moves in, it’s for a kiss. This kiss is gentle, as they learn these new bodies. Marcus tastes different as Dean and James is suddenly the taller one. Marcus’ lips move along James’ and he tilts his head to deepen it.

It’s like a switch has been flipped and desire turns on just as suddenly as the kiss began. James’ teeth bite into Marcus’ full lower lip, and Marcus’ moan is all startled pleasure.  
There are less clothes for them to deal with than ever before and it takes no effort at all to skim a hand up Marcus’ side under the t-shirt.

“Fuck,” Marcus swears. “Inside, Jem. Now.”

They start to stumble up the steps together before James can feel - or hear - Samuel’s incessant reminder that their food has been left in the monstrosity and it will spoil if they leave it too long.

“Wait,” he pants out reluctantly. “The vittles, they’ll spoil.”

“Let them,” Marcus protests. “Fuck now, food later.”

James chuckles, pressing a kiss to the corner of Marcus’ lips and somewhere in the back of his head Dean grimaces. This is his brother he’s attacking with his mouth. It’s weird and it’s fucking uncomfortable.

“Come, Marc. The sooner our supplies are put away, the sooner you can have your wicked way with me.”

With a truly theatrical groan, Marcus pulls away and goes purposefully over to the car. “How do we open this forsaken appliance?” James laughs again, shaking his head.

 _“You open the fucking door,” Dean grouses, “and then you pop the trunk. It’s fucking muscle memory.”  
_  
“Shut up,” Marcus hisses at him, adjusting himself.

With a put upon sigh, James opens the door to pull the latch on the trunk. Marcus immediately begins gathering bags, complaining the whole while both inside and out.

Once everything is inside the cabin and mostly put away, the nagging feeling of Samuel has faded entirely and James turns just in time to catch Marcus’ lips with his. “Bloody Hell, Jem,” he begs, tugging Dean’s shirt over his head. “Don’t make me wait a second longer.”

Everything narrows down to the golden tanned expanse of skin displayed in front of him and James wets his lips. “God-damn,” he swears softly. “It has been far too long.” He drops to his knees, and places his hands on the buttons holding Marcus’ pants closed. “May I, Marc?” he pleads softly.

“Fuck, aye.” Marcus groans, scrabbling at the jeans to help James pull them off. “If they could see you, Jem. Son of the king on his knees a’fore a highwayman and a knave.”

James lays a tender kiss on the inside of Marcus’ knee. “No one here but you.”

“Us and them,” Marcus agrees breathlessly. “Now, Lord, Jem. Suck me.”

 _Sam recoils instantly even as his body leans forward to lick a stripe up Marcus’ - Dean’s - cock. There’s been a lot in his life that can be classified as weird and fucked up, but this, this definitely takes the cake. It doesn’t seem to matter that Sam’s never sucked a dick in his life, James clearly has and does so with abandon._

 _He wishes for a brief moment that he could talk psychically to Dean through the connection they shared, but telepathy definitely didn’t factor into it. And Dean is probably freaking out enough as it is._

Marcus doesn’t last long, it’s been too many years and this new body he’s trapped in craves touch badly enough that the minute Jem closes his lips around his cock, he’s already close to coming. “Christ, Jem,” he pants, “your mouth...” He arches his hips and clenches his fingers into the arms of the chair.

 _It’s difficult to keep a level head, while watching your little brother give you head, Dean thinks a little hysterically. Not only that but James is good at it and Sam’s mouth seems made for it. Dean tries to bury himself under layers of denial, a metaphorical la-la-la to the whole situation, but he’s stuck in the front seat of the drive-in movie, and the porn is good enough that even Dean has to wish he had a cock to jerk off with._

When Marcus looks down at James and sees the glimmer of his smile in his familiar blue eyes, Marcus loses it.

With a short, wild cry, he comes down James’ throat and slumps in his chair, breathing heavily. James swallows, wiping the back of one hand over his swollen lips. “You taste the same,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of Marcus thigh. “Fuck, but you even smell the same.”

“Damn it, Jem,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “I think you’ve gone and killed me.”

James rises fluidly to his feet, a rider’s grace and straddles Marcus with a wicked grin. “I should hope not,” he purrs. “Otherwise I should be very put out.”

Marcus kisses him instead of replying. They share the taste of Dean between them and Marcus can feel himself hardening again. “Jem, Christ.”

He arches his hips up and brushes his bare length against Jem’s still clothed erection. “You are wearing far too much, my Jem.”

James smiles against his lips. “Let go of my hips and perhaps I’ll remove it all.” Marcus lets go reflexively and all but shoves James off his lap. James, for his part, laughs. “Impatient are we?” he asks with a cocksure grin.

 _Sam winces and covers his ears because this is just too much. He can feel his body throbbing with arousal and it’s been long enough since he last got laid that he’s almost eager for what’s coming next._

Marcus narrows his eyes at James and crosses his arms over his bare chest. “I could take care of this,” he gestures obscenely, “myself, Jem.” He had meant it to sound threatening, but when James stops stripping off his clothes to sit, legs crossed on the floor, he can’t help but blink. “Jem?”

 _Dean’s not an exhibitionist by nature, but it’s not as though he hasn’t jerked off for his partners before. But the thought of jerking off in front of Sam... that’s something different entirely._

 _“Please,” James says, gesturing expansively. “By all means.”_

A burning flush slides down his face to pool in his chest. “You wish a show, my prince?”

The expression on James’ face softens into a tender look. “What I wish is to enjoy the next six months,” he says, grinning a little. “If that requires your putting on a show, then so be it.”

Marcus’ blush intensifies one hundred fold but he grasps himself loosely. “Come, my prince,” he murmurs. “This encounter is feeling very one sided. At least finish disrobing.”

It takes James no time at all to strip off Sam’s jeans. “I want you to fuck me,” James says seriously as he sits at Marcus’ feet again.

 _Sam’s alarm spikes so hard that even James feels it. He hasn’t been fucked since... Jess. She used to love putting on this ridiculous purple and pink swirled strap on— and this isn’t helping. Still, it’s been... six years since the last time he’d done that and he’s seen what Dean’s packing. No, thank you._

He grips himself tighter at the words but smiles ruefully. “It has been at least six hundred years since you and I have touched, and your borrowed body has never been breached, so we’ll take it slow. We have all the time in the world.”  
 _  
“Excuse me,” Sam says. “Could we forgo this whole idea, do you think?”_

 _He can feel James grin. “Sorry, Samuel. But now it’s my turn.”  
_  
Distracted, James’ expression grows sorrowful. “Six months?” He scoffs. “Six months is nothing.”

“No,” Marcus admonishes, repeating Risika’s words from what seems like a lifetime ago. “Six months is everything.” He slides off the chair to press himself chest to chest with James. “I can’t fuck you yet, Jem. But there are other things. Lay back.”

James drops back onto his elbows, to watch what Marcus is going to do next. Marcus leans forward and presses their lips together, it’s a distraction and it works. They slide together wetly, and sparks of pleasure settle in Marcus’ belly. “Fuck, but I love kissing you,” he whispers, feeling James’ answering smile.

They jerk each other off, just like the first time they’d ever been together more than six hundred years ago, and fall asleep curled naked around each other‘s bodies by the fire.

 _James turns around as the room around them builds itself a set of walls and he can hear the annoyed noises of Sam just behind him. “Hello Samuel,” he says with a small smile. “I do hope you aren’t too cross with me.”_

 _“I’m not sure ‘cross’ is the right word, no,” Sam says evenly. “Considering you’re taking over my life for six months and are currently fucking my brother.”_

 _“I certainly understand your vexation,” James answers, taking a seat on the floor. “I would be equally as angry should I have wound up in your predicament.” He gestures to the ground beside him. “But you require more answers than you have, and our time is short.”_

 _“Answers? I think I know everything. Bunch of souls in a glass amulet, possess people for six months.”_

 _James laughs. “You are close, dear Samuel. But we do not live in that cursed medallion.” Sam frowns. “We are you, boy. I don’t know what words you have for it, but we share the same soul.”_

 _“So Marcus and Dean...?”_

 _“Marcus and Dean are the same soul as well, yes. We are brought forth by the devil’s magic inside the medallion.”_

 _Sam can’t help but laugh. “Devil’s magic?”_

 _James lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I will be as kind as I can to this body we share, Samuel. But do not deny me this one last chance to right the wrongs I committed to his.”_

 _“I wish I could feel better about this, James. I really do. But... he’s my brother.” Sam winces just thinking about it. “And, could you call me Sam, do you think? You sound like my father.”_

 _Laughing, James nods. “As you wish, then call me Jem. He does.”_

 _Dean is already scowling when he can suddenly see Marcus in the odd dreamscape the plains of his mind are. “I feel no need to apologize for something I’ve hungered for, Master Dean.” Marcus’ voice is different in his head, a deep growl rather than Dean’s own voice. “You would liken me to a thief and a knave, so for the next half year, I will steal your life.”_

 _Marcus is tall, probably only an inch below Sam if they stood together, his hair long and slanted into his brown eyes. He looks forbidding, and every inch the rogue he claims to be._

 _“You’d have done better in Sam,” Dean says with bite._

 _“Mm,” Marcus agrees, crossing his arms over his lean and narrow chest. “Aye, Sam and I might have done, if we shared a soul.”_

 _That brings Dean up short. “Huh?”_

 _“Do you not listen, when explanations are left out for your ears? The lady told you she was sharing a soul with Lynn Cooney. I merely share yours. We are the same.” Marcus looks earnestly at him, and Dean recoils a little. “Take pride, you have the soul of a highwayman.” Marcus waves a hand about himself. “This is as I looked back when I lived.”_

 _Dean doesn’t look impressed. “Dude. You’re fucking my brother, and I’m supposed to feel good about this?”  
_  
 _Marcus raises a single eyebrow. “Dude?”_

 _He waves a hand. “Whatever, language is not important right now. You’re still fucking my brother and making me watch.”_

 _The other eyebrow rises to join the other. “I remember what you remember, Dean. Well, mostly... finer details are lost, unfortunately. But the way you act and carry on? I love my James well and I’d think twice before sellin’ my soul to the nearest devil.”_

 _Dean falls silent, pensive and annoyed. It’s bad enough that he has to live every kiss and every orgasm that his brother has, now his soul is making smart aleck comments about the sacrifices they’ve each made._

 _“I’ve offended you,” Marcus says slowly. “This was not my intention. Jem is always telling me to mind my tongue, but my mind gets ahead of me sometimes.” He offers Dean a small smile. “I do apologize.”_

 _“Jem?”_

 _“Aye, ‘tis the short hand name I gave him.” Marcus smiles again, this time fondly. “You may call me Marc, if you so wish.”_

 _He hates this whole situation, especially because under different circumstances, he’d have liked meeting Marc in a bar somewhere, trading stories. “Look, is there any way you could, I don’t know... block what I get from this whole thing? Because, seriously? Sam’s my brother.”_  


  


  
 _  
Marcus bites his lip for a second. “If there is, I know it not,” he says. “Just... lie back and think of England?”_

Dean can’t help the barking laugh. “Somehow I don’t think that will help.”

 _“Then come, sit with me, converse with me. I wish to learn you. We are the same after all, are we not?” Marcus smiles disarmingly at Dean and sits on the ground. “Our time lasts until we wake.”_

 __ _Grudgingly, Dean sits. They’ll make this work. Even if he has to think about England for most of it._  


  


 _  
_

  


 _  
_

  


 _  
_

  


  
 _  
_  
When James opens his eyes, he is greeted with a sight he hasn’t seen in a long time. Even though Marcus has much of Dean in him, build, height and facial structure, his eyes are all Marcus, brown, deep and warm. “Good morrow, Jem,” he whispers, pulling James closer. “This doesn’t seem real.”

“Just like old times,” James whispers back, pressing their foreheads together and pulling the blanket they’d found up over their heads. “Marc, do you remember... the first time we slept in our barn together?”

Smiling lazily, Marcus rolls onto his back. “Mm, aye. Had hay in places there should never be hay, thanks to you.”

Jem swats at him, the back of his hand connecting with Marcus’s belly. Marcus swats back and Jem pounces, tussling over him until he’s seated on his knees over Marcus’s hips. “That,” he says a little breathlessly, “was not my fault.”

Marcus catches his breath when James leans over him, long hair falling to curtain his face. Dean grumbles something about Sam’s hair being too long but Marcus ignores him in favor of tugging James down for a kiss.

 _Which makes Sam squirm and complain loudly about how wrong incest is, and wasn’t it a sin back when they were alive?_

James rolls his eyes inwardly, deepening the kiss in response. They kiss gently, until Marcus’s stomach growls loudly between them. James pulls back with a laugh, nudging his nose against Marcus’s. “Let’s get something to eat, Marc. Play will come later.”

 _“Thank God,” Dean sighs, settling back. “Maybe now I can get some fucking sleep.” He fades away a little, as though he rolls over and covers himself up and Marcus has a spike of alarm. He’s gotten used to Dean’s constant complaining about the situation. “I didn’t go anywhere princess, so shut up and stop thinking so loud in my direction.”_

Marcus smiles. They’re going to be fine.

“Marcus?” James asks, a little confused at the bright smile that steals over his lover’s face. “What are you thinking about?”

He snaps back into focus. “Dean, actually. He’s figured out how to fade away.” Some of Sam’s alarm bleeds into James’ face and Marcus is quick to continue. “It’s like going to sleep. He’s still there, but he’s not... aware. At least, not totally aware. He says I talk too much.”

James smiles. “You do. But Samuel says I think too hard, so perhaps we’re even.”

 _Sam pulls a face and crosses his arms over his chest. “It is not my fault,” he announces, “that you have a filthy mind.”_

 _“We share a mind, Sam. Which means your mind is just as filthy as mine.”_

That silences Sam for a while and James busies himself with breaking their fast. It’s all simple fare, sliced bread and the thickest jam he can find. He slices apples and digs out the jar of honey that is buried behind jars of things he doesn’t have names for off the top of his head. “Marc? It is ready.”

They sit together at the roughly hewn table, and eat together. It’s a novelty, because they’ve never done it before. Each of their trysts together had been rushed, a quick coupling in the hay or behind the barn. They’ve never had any time to spend just being together.  
 _  
“How’d you meet anyway?” Sam asks, as they’re chewing. He sounds close, like he’s leaning over James’ shoulder._

 _“Academy,” James responds. “He was sneaking in, stealing, actually and I caught him. He came to my quarters... and I’m certain you can imagine the rest.”_

Marcus looks up in time to catch the far away expression in James’ eyes. “You are speaking with young Samuel?”

“Aye,” James says. “He is very curious as to how we met.”

He takes another bite, hiding his smile. “You should tell him,” he says. “Every detail.”

James blushes and refuses to say more, no matter hard or how much Sam prods at him.

  
  
  
  
  


Their mouths separate with a gasp, and Marcus leans his forehead against James. “Can I move, Jem?”

“Fuck. Move, Marc. Do it.” James writhes against him, clinging to Marcus. “Please.”

Marcus thrusts his hips into James’ willing body, fucking down into him with abandon.

 _Sam jerks with him, throwing one arm over his eyes like it will block out the sensation of being fucked. He can see Marcus - Dean - Marcus moving over him and Sam digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Though the manifestation of his body is largely immaterial, he can feel himself growing hard, and he groans._

 _As Marcus thrusts into James, Sam twitches like it is happening to him. “Fuck,” he groans, trying to fade away, trying to ignore everything, “fuck, Dean.”_

James’ eyes fly open in shock and he comes without warning. Marcus swears, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I love you,” he murmurs, and follows James over the edge.

As they drift off into sleep, James turns to face Sam. _“Samuel,” he says, infinite gentleness in his tone. “Samuel, I am so, so sorry.”_

 _Sam turns his face away. “Shut up, Jem.”_

 _“You love him, don’t you? I’ve made you fall in love with him.” James settles himself beside the construct of Sam’s conscious. “It has been three of our six months. Things will be over soon enough.”_

 _Snorting, Sam turns to face him. “And by then, Jem... the damage will already be done.”_

 _“Samuel...”_

 _“Never mind, James. Just let me sleep.” He pulls away, fading into the woodwork of the library of his mind. It isn’t possible to sleep for three months straight, but he can kill a good chunk of that by trying._  
 

  


 _Month 6_

  


  
Marcus can’t find the Medallion. It’s gone. It is in none of his clothes, none of James’. It is not in the car, nor is it anywhere in the cabin. It’s the beginning of the end. He feels tears come to his eyes as he sinks to his knees in the middle of the floor. He can feel Dean stirring at the back of his mind.

He sits there, silent until James enters the door with an armful of wood. “It’s time,” he says to the prince. “We’re over with.”

“The Medallion?”

  


  
“Gone.” Marcus looks up and James drops the wood when he sees his eyes. One eye is warm brown, and the other a clear, cool green. Dean’s eyes.

James kneels at his side. “Kiss me, my love. One last time.”

Their lips meet, and Dean yawns, stretching. Marcus’ body jerks against James before he slides to an unconscious heap in James’ arms.

He waits diligently by his lover’s side. He owes Sam that. Dean too.  
 

  
  


 _November, 2011_

  


  
Castiel appears with the sound of displaced air. “Sam,” he says, when Sam doesn’t move. “I have already spoken to Bobby. He explained everything to me.” He hesitates then, and adds, “... Are you alright?”

“No, Cas. I’m... not.” He turns to look at Cas. “I need to go to Montana.”

He’s wearing Dean’s amulet, Castiel notices. He says nothing, he doesn’t have to. There is nothing to say. He reaches out and touches Sam on the forehead. “I will find your brother, Sam,” he promises. “Wait for me.”

*tbc

  


  
 

  


| [1](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/73666.html) | [2](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/73219.html) | [3](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/73112.html) | [4](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/72925.html) | [5](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/72679.html) | [ Notes & Soundtrack ](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/72313.html)  



	4. A Place to Rest My Spirit

_**FIC: A Place to Rest my Spirit 4/5**_  
 **Title:** A Place to Rest My Spirit  
 **Author:** Miss ‘Drea  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word Count:** ~21,000  
 **Beta:** dH, [](http://blackcathollow.livejournal.com/profile)[ **blackcathollow**](http://blackcathollow.livejournal.com/)   ,[](http://jassy3399.livejournal.com/profile)[ **jassy3399**](http://jassy3399.livejournal.com/)     
 **Pairing:** Sam/Dean, OMC/OFC  
 **Summary** : Sam and Dean find an amulet that lets the restless souls of their past selves live for six months, it’s a way to mend broken bridges and let soul-mates who may have lost their chance at happiness find some again. Marcus and James live for six months, but it’s Sam and Dean who must face the consequences of their actions.  
 **Disclaimer:** Gamble, Kripke and Singer own everything. Fredrick and Risika are mine. 100% literally.

  
  


 **| 4 |**

  


 **  
**

  


 _The bastards hung me in the Spring of ‘25  
_

  


 _But I am still alive..._

  


 _  
_

  


 _Late November, 2011_

  
Sam fidgets before ringing the bell to Mike and Lynnie’s house. Nothing happens for a long moment and he almost gives up hope. Then, slowly, the door opens and Mike stands before him. He looks a lot like how Fredrick did, but his hair is shorter, more blonde and his eyes are a clear, dark blue. He looks terrible. “Mike?” Sam asks, because he’s never actually met the man before.

The tightness in his face eases some but Mike doesn’t smile. “Sam,” he says. “Right on schedule.”

“You were expecting me?” Sam asks, a little surprised.

Mike half smiles. “Not me. Fredrick. Wrote me a letter, informing me of... everything, but especially that I should expect you.” He holds open the door to let Sam in. “He said you’d be showing up around November, and here you are.”

Though he’d come there with a purpose, Sam’s curiosity is piqued. “I wonder how he’d known it was going to be me. I could easily be my brother right now,” he muses softly as they sit at the table.

Mike shrugs one shoulder. “The man was psychic. But, I’m not, so you’ll have to ask him.”

“Is that even possible?” Sam asks immediately. “I can feel Jem, sometimes. But other than some, frankly bizarre muscle memory, he’s just... gone.” Sam looks around the kitchen, trying to collect his thoughts, and realizes a little belatedly that Lynnie hasn’t joined them and her pictures are gone. “Mike?” he asks, finally. “Where’s Lynnie?”

Mike snorts wetly and when he looks up, his eyes are red-rimmed and blood shot. “Gone,” he answers. “Moved out not a week after you two left.” Mike shakes his head. “Not even our being soul mates kept her from being a lesbian.”

“I understand. Not even being soul mates kept Dean from being my brother.”

Wincing, Mike claps Sam on the shoulder. “You win, dude.”

“I don’t want to win, I want my brother back.” Dean’s amulet lays cold on his sternum, and every time Sam feels it brushing against his skin, he feels like it’s the four months of hell he lived through while Dean was dead. “But first,” he says, his voice low and furious. “I want to find the bitch that did this to us.”

“Good luck with that,” Mike says, his voice set into a scowl. “The fucking occult shop that sold Lynnie the amulet closed a month after I got... back.”

Sam in already in Hunter mode, and it is a relief to slip into the role. “Can you remember the name of the woman who sold you the amulet?”

Mike thinks about it for a second. “No, but Lynnie probably would. I’ll get you her cell number.”

Once in hand, Sam punches in the digits, chest tightening with every ring. Finally, a breathless hello answers it.

“Hi, Lynnie?” Sam asks quickly, very aware that if he spooks her, he’s done before he can start. “This is Sam Winchester. I don’t... know if you remember me.”

There’s a painfully long pause, then: “I don’t, but Risika does. Is the six months up, then?”  
“Y-Yeah,” Sam stutters, surprised again. “I don’t know how much you remember, but...”

She cuts him off. “I remember enough. What’s this about?”

“The woman who sold you the amulet, what was her name?” He cuts to the chase, and waits with bated breath for her answer.

“Anitra Collins. Why?”

Sam writes it down. “My brother and I are hunters, Lynnie. And when she sold you that medallion, she did it with the full knowledge of what it would do, and the consequences it would bring. She’s a witch and she needs to be stopped.”

Lynnie blows out a breath. “You’re not wrong,” she agrees carefully. “Um. How’s Mike?”

Sam glances at the empty chair in front of him. Mike had turned tail and run as soon as Lynnie answered the phone. “Heartbroken,” he answers honestly. “He misses you terribly. I can tell and I’ve been here less than an hour.”

Her chuckle is wet and her breathing hitches tellingly. “I’ve never liked men, Mr. Winchester. And to remember these... flashes, of... well, really great sex... and with my best friend no less? I just... need time.” She sighs again. “What are you going to do with her?”

“I don’t know yet,” Sam answers. “I’ll let you know when I do.” He disconnects, snapping the phone closed and pressing the edge to his lips. He makes a split second decision and fires off a text message.

‘ _Dean_ ,’ he writes, ‘ _Anitra Collins._ ’ Send.

Five minutes later, the phone vibrates with a reply and Sam is almost embarrassed at how fast he snatches up his phone.

‘ _Who?_ ’ Dean’s texted back and Sam quickly punches in the appropriate keys to explain what he has just learned from Mike.

‘ _Find her_?’

‘ _Not yet,_ ’ he answers, ‘ _I’ll let u kno._ ’

It’s not a lot, but it’s something.

He finds her in Philadelphia. Using an old search program of Ash’s from so long ago that he’d almost forgotten he has the disc for it. Sam plugs in a few key phrases. There are six entries that pop up but only one has a working phone number.

“Thank you for calling Firefly Night,” a smooth voice answers. “This is Anitra, how can I help you?”

Sam’s almost too startled to respond. “Uh. Hi. Sorry. I just... had a question about using belladonna as a sleep aid,” he says, affecting a worried tone. “My girlfriend uses it but I saw this movie on TV that says it’s also a poison.”

Anitra has the balls to laugh softly. “As long as she uses it infrequently and at a minimal dose, she should be fine.”

Sam huffs out a sigh of relief that’s entirely real. He’s found her. “Thanks,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “That’s very helpful.”

He thumbs the ‘End’ button on his phone, tapping it against his palm before opening a text message.

‘ _Philly, PA_ ,’ he writes, tapping his thumb against the screen for a second before adding, ‘meet me there?’

Dean’s response is quick. ‘ _Where @?_ ’

Sam scrolls through motel listings for the area before picking what’s likely to be the cheapest and the closest. ‘ _Super8 in Paoli. Txt u rm# later._ ’ He tucks the phone into his pocket, saying a quick good bye to Micah before leaving the house. The phone vibrates when he gets in the car.

Dean’s text says, ‘ _be there in..._ ’ the text ends abruptly like Dean is thinking about how long it’ll take to get there. Sam waits him out and the text comes two minutes later. ‘ _2 days._ ’ Sam wonders for a second where Dean is that it’ll take him that long to get to Pennsylvania.

‘ _Kk_ ’ he texts back to Dean. He looks down at the phone for a long minute before he opens another text message. ‘ _Miss u_ ’.

So far it’s the only text left unanswered and Sam can feel his stomach churn before he gathers the wherewithal to get in his stolen car and drive.

Paoli is six hours away and maybe once he’s there he can sleep again. He doesn’t remember much of the last six months, but his body remembers sleeping beside someone. And he has spent a whole lifetime of listening to Dean breathe in the bed next to him.

He makes the drive in four hours, checking in to the motel by six in the morning. Sick at heart, he opens another text message. ‘ _Rm206_ ' he sends.

Dean’s response is gratifyingly quick. _‘K_ ,’ it says. ‘ _Be there soon._ ’

Against his will, Sam’s heartbeat quickens and everything tightens. ‘ _Where r u?_ ’ he asks, barely refraining from asking how long ‘soon’ is.

‘ _Hwy84_ ' Dean says immediately.

‘ _DON’T TEXT AND DRIVE_ ’ he types out forbiddingly, before he realizes he shouldn’t. It’s a knee jerk reaction and he hits send before he realizes that Dean’s not out for pizza. They’re barely speaking and if he pushes too hard, he’s going to lose Dean again.

It gets a response though, surprisingly enough. ‘ _Quit ur bitchin princess_ ’ he’s sent back and Sam smiles despite himself as relief breaks over him because maybe things aren’t hopeless after all.

It’s automatic. ‘ _Jerk’_ he sends back.

It’s too much to hope for. Too much, too soon. Too early, because if Dean doesn’t respond, Sam doesn’t think he’ll survive. Not with the way his brotherly devotion is twisted up with James’ love for Marcus. He can’t even separate the two, can’t differentiate, it’s all the same.

It’s Dean, it’s Marcus and they’re soul mates.

His phone vibrates.

‘ _Bitch. Go to bed,_ ’ Dean says.

Sam sleeps for more than an hour at a time for the first time in two weeks.

Roughly a day later there’s a knock on the motel door and Sam stops breathing. He lifts his handgun from the table beside the bed and holds it loosely as he looks through the peephole.

Dean. It’s Dean.

Sam opens the door and Dean steps over the salt line. Sam gestures with one hand and his brother Dean pulls a silver blade out of his boot, pressing it against his arm. Nothing. Sam gazes at the thin, bloody line on Dean’s forearm and offers Dean the beer that is sitting on the table.

Dean takes it with a wry grin. “Trying to get me drunk?”

“Would it help?” Sam’s only half joking. “It’s laced with holy water.” Dean drinks it and when nothing happens, Sam clicks the safety on and stows the gun in the back of his jeans.

Dean snorts. “I taught you well, grasshopper.”

Sam grins and for one perfect moment, things are normal. Then Dean’s face closes and Sam takes a full step backwards. “So,” Dean says uncomfortably. “What’ve you got?”

“Firefly Night, owned by Anitra Collins. On South Street in Philadelphia. She’s had six other shops like the one in Montana but other than Micah and Lynnie, I don’t know of any other people like us.” Sam opens the lap top and swivels it towards Dean. “She opens at ten in the morning, and I’ve found several spells even you and I can perform, all to bind her power. And one to find the medallion.”

Dean looks visibly startled. “Find the...?”

“Yeah. To... To destroy it.” Sam looks away, eyes fixed on the carpet between his feet. “I don’t think it works twice.”

“Do...” Dean is very pointedly not looking at Sam. “...Do you wish it did?”

Sam’s mouth goes dry and every single thing that he’s wanted to say to Dean evaporates. “Do you want me be honest?” Sam asks, with half a laugh. “Because everything is twisted up inside, and I don’t really know the answer anymore.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees softly. “Me either.” Silence lies tense between them before Dean breaks it. “So, ten?”

Sam nods. “I have to call Bobby.” It’s an excuse, something to distance himself from the crushing feelings in his chest. He does really have to call Bobby though, he just doesn’t necessarily need to do it that second.  
The line rings once before Bobby answers it with a grunt. “Yeah?”

“Hey Bobby, it’s me,” Sam says. “We found her.” He cuts to the chase, they’ve come too far for anything else now.

“Where? Wait, we?” Bobby answers in response, and Sam can hear him sit down.

“Philadelphia,” Sam responds and gives Bobby the run down. He very carefully doesn’t look at Dean as he talks to Bobby. He’s still very acutely aware of his brother, standing somewhere behind him.

“Boy, is Dean with you or not?” Bobby finally demands, interrupting.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “He’s here.”

“Well give the damn phone to him, idjit ”

Sam licks his lips and turns to Dean, steeling his nerves against anything he might see in Dean’s face. Dean’s not fast enough to school his expression before Sam catches it. His brother is definitely looking at him, but more than that, he’s gazing at Sam with undisguised emotion in his eyes. It’s longing and Sam has seen it on his own face in the mirror enough times to know it.

Then, the expression is gone as Dean takes the phone. “Hey, Bobby,” he says quietly.

Sam can’t hear Bobby’s ranting, but it goes on long enough that Dean actually looks chastised by the end. “Yeah,” he says after roughly five minutes of silence. “Yeah I got it, Bobby.”

He clicks the phone off a second later, handing it the phone back to Sam. Their fingers brush briefly and Dean doesn’t pull away. “We should get some sleep,” H Dean says finally and throws himself down on the bed closest to the door. “I call first shower.”

It’s so normal that Sam spends the entirety of Dean’s shower trying not to cry.

Just as the water turns off, Sam’s phone rings. The number comes up ‘Private’ but he answers anyway. “Yeah?”

“Sam?” It’s a female voice and not immediately recognizable. “This is Sam, right?”

“Uh, yeah, who’s this?” Dean comes out of the bathroom, fully dressed and looking uncomfortable.

“This is Lynnie,” the girl says. “I just... I thought... ugh, I’m sorry Sam. Half of me is relating to you as a 19th century psychic that you used to cook with, and garden with, and the other half is stuck with only one phone conversation to go on.”  
Sam can’t help but chuckle. He’d liked Risika, and was sorry to see her go. “What did you want to tell me, Lynnie?”

“That,” she murmurs, “once you go through the painful and horrible process of remembering the past six months you’ve missed... maybe what the amulet drew out isn’t exactly... gone.”

Dean doesn’t look uncomfortable anymore, he just looks concerned. “What’s that mean?” Sam murmurs, afraid to hope.

“It means that on really clear days, when the sun is shining and the wind is blowing in the right direction, I can hear Risika talking to me.”

The pang in his chest is so profound he almost clutches his heart. “Well,” he says faintly. “Shit.”

She chuckles but it sounds wet, like she’s crying. “I’m sorry Sam. I wish there had been some way to warn you.”

Sam can’t help but glance at Dean and he can feel his heart break a little more. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

He hangs up the phone like it’s an afterthought, turning fully to face Dean. “Do I want to know?” his brother asks, nervous.

“No,” Sam answers honestly. “It won’t help.” He crosses to the other bed, giving Dean a wide berth. “Did you leave me any hot water?”

“Some,” Dean says with a cavalier grin. It’s forced, a little strained, but it’s a start.

Sam takes that small kernel of hope into the shower with him. It isn’t until he feels his hand close around his desperate dick that he even realizes that Dean’s smile has gotten him hard.

Feeling sick, Sam jerks off to hot water and the scent of Dean, letting the water wash away the evidence of his shame. He washes his hair quickly, and turns the water off. When he comes back into the room, Dean is sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees. He looks lost and it’s like a punch to the face. “Dean?”

Over the years, they’ve said each other’s names so many times in so many different ways, that whole means can be conveyed in just the one word. This one says concern.

“Yeah, Sam?”

Sam licks his lips, his whole mouth suddenly dry. “What’s wrong?”

Dean looks up. “I don’t know if I can do this, Sam...” he whispers. “Half of me wants to run the plan with you and the other half wants to kiss that fucking look off your face.” Sam jerks, surprised, suddenly hard again.

He sits on the opposite bed, tucking one leg beneath him. “Well,” he says slowly. “What’s the plan?”

Sam makes the choice for them. They’ll be brothers, nothing more, nothing less. Everything else, everything that’s weird, it’ll go away.

Someday.

They open the door to Firefly Night at exactly 10:30, waiting to make sure that Anitra is the only one there. South Street is fairly busy, and Sam keeps a sharp eye on the comings and goings of pedestrians just outside the picture window of the store. Dean, by unspoken agreement, heads over to talk to Anitra. She’s behind the counter, giving them both an appreciative glance.

He isn’t over there for five seconds when Dean suddenly calls Sam’s name. Sam turns and there it is. The amulet. A great yawning abyss opens in him and he can feel James smiling somewhere inside him. “Holy shit,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” Anitra’s voice breaks in, “but that’s not for sale.”

Dean scowls, turning to face her, and whatever she sees on his face, it’s enough to make her take a step back. “Wrong answer,” he growls. Sam steps around him, and Dean’s eyes... Dean’s eyes are brown.

“You already know what the Medallion does,” she says, her voice hushed. “You have already had your six months. Why are you here?”

“Maybe you missed the memo, witch,” Dean says, but it’s Marcus talking, “but we’re hunters.”

Anitra pales, and takes another step back.

“More than that,” he says quietly, “we’re brothers.”

Anitra stares at them for a second too long. “Brothers?” she says. “That’s impossible. My Medallion is guaranteed not to choose incompatible hosts.”

Dean sneers. “No offence, witch, but I think your spell failed.”

Sam watches in slow motion as Dean reaches out and snatches up the amulet, cradling it in his hands. Both he and Anitra watch in shock as the change over takes him. Marcus’ hair is slightly longer than Dean’s, and a much deeper shade of brown. His stance is all different, loose and easy grace, but just as deadly.

“You see,” he continues Dean’s monologue, flawless accent and all, “this little trinket of yours hasn’t been under your control for quite some time.” He swings it on one finger. “It should have returned to you immediately after it released Lynnette and Micah from its dubious charms, instead it stole six months from two brothers.” Here, he turns to look at Sam. “James and I were never meant to be, neither are Sam and Dean.”

Anitra’s mouth is moving but no sound comes out. “This... is impossible,” she finally manages to say.

“Not so impossible,” Marcus says with a wink. “Samuel,” he adds, turning to face him. “I’m not much longer for this world, and when the Medallion leaves my hands, I’ll return to being Dean. I have a message for you. And for Jem, wherever he may be buried in your subconscious.”

Sam’s mouth is dry and he aches a little with memory. “What is it?” he asks, despite himself.

“When we’re through here... don’t let him, me, us, run away again. We were miserable.” Marcus winks, then turns back to Anitra. “Sorry, my Lady, but we really cannot allow you to misuse this power again.”

He closes his eyes and drops the Medallion to the floor where the glass shatters. The small smile in the back of Sam’s head is suddenly gone, vanished without a trace of being and Dean is himself again, looking angry and hurt.

Anitra cries out, falling to her knees and scrambling towards the broken glass. The sound of a cocking gun stops her. “I don’t fucking think so, witch.”

Her blue eyes look up and up and up to Sam but he’s as immovable as granite. “Don’t look at me,” he tells her, almost gently. “I’m the one you fucked with your stupid spell.”

“You got the spell ready, Sam?”

“Um, Dean, I don’t know how much you paid attention to Bobby’s lessons in spell craft, but these things require some sort of ritual to start with.” Dean turns and gives him a dirty look, before jerking his chin at the merchandise around them. “So I should get to it then?” Sam asks dryly, and Anitra makes a noise of protest.

He locks the door as a precaution, flipping the sign to say closed. The last thing he needs is some budding practitioner walking in on the middle of the ritual and getting the wrong... or the right, idea.

Anitra cries while Sam recites the Latin to bind her powers. Dean keeps the gun trained on her the entire time, and when the candles go out, and her limbs collapse like her strings have been cut, Sam knows it’s over.

Over.

Like that even matters now. They leave her there, Dean’s growled warning to keep a lid on it, or they’d be back to kill her next time, and exit the store together.

Dean walks to the Impala but Sam feels frozen. It could be indecision, could be James, could be anything, he just doesn’t know if he’s welcome in the car again. Dean ends the turmoil for him. “You comin’ Sammy?” he calls and Sam’s moving before he can think about it.

He’d made the right choice the night before.

Brothers. Nothing more. Nothing less.

*tbc

  


  
| [1](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/73666.html) | [2](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/73219.html) | [3](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/73112.html) | [4](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/72925.html) | [5](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/72679.html) | [ Notes & Soundtrack ](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/72313.html)  


  


  



	5. A Place to Rest My Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean find an amulet that lets the restless souls of their past selves live for six months, it’s a way to mend broken bridges and let soul-mates who may have lost their chance at happiness find some again. Marcus and James live for six months, but it’s Sam and Dean who must face the consequences of their actions.

_**FIC: A Place to Rest my Spirit 5/5**_  
Title: A Place to Rest My Spirit  
Author: Miss ‘Drea  
Rating: NC-17  
Word Count: ~21,000  
Beta: dH, blackcathollow ,jassy3399  
Pairing: Sam/Dean, OMC/OFC  
Summary: Sam and Dean find an amulet that lets the restless souls of their past selves live for six months, it’s a way to mend broken bridges and let soul-mates who may have lost their chance at happiness find some again. Marcus and James live for six months, but it’s Sam and Dean who must face the consequences of their actions.  
Disclaimer: Gamble, Kripke and Singer own everything. Fredrick and Risika are mine. 100% literally.

  


*

  
  
  


  


  
**| 5 |**   


  


  
_  
I’ll fly a star ship, across the universe divide  
and when I reach the other side  
I’ll find a place to rest my spirit if I can  
Perhaps I may become a highwayman again  
Or I may be a single drop of rain  
But I will remain  
And I’ll be back again  
\- Willie Nelson, The Highwayman_   


  


  
_January, 2012_   


It’s Dean that breaks the quiet stillness of the motel room. Sam’s reading obituaries on the laptop, scrolling silently with the touch pad. He had thought Dean was sleeping, he’d been so quiet on the bed for so long. When Dean speaks, he jerks in surprise. “Can we talk, do you think?”

“Um,” Sam says inelegantly. “Sure. What about? I think I found a hunt in Killdeer, Montana...” he trails off when Dean gives him a look.

“That’s not what I meant.” Sam doesn’t speak again, afraid of breaking whatever thoughts Dean’s holding on to. “It’s been a few months since... you know.” Sam does know.

“Yeah,” Sam says when Dean seems to wait for a response.

Dean rolls over and faces him fully, and Sam slowly closes the laptop, killing the light in the room and leaving the shadows to the streetlights. “You haven’t talked about it.” He sounds surprised.

“You didn’t want to,” Sam says, edgy. They’ve been so good, this far. He doesn’t want to ruin it. Doesn’t want to let Dean ruin it for them. “Didn’t think there was anything to say.”

Dean snorts. “Bullshit. There’s a lot to say.” Sam smiles a little. It’s true. “I have to ask you something, Sammy.”

“Okay, shoot.” Anything to end the awkward. Anything.

“Are you still in love with me?”

Anything but that.

“Dean...” Sam says sharply. “You hate talking. Go to bed.”

Surprisingly, Dean laughs. “Guess that’s my answer huh?” he asks, mostly rhetorical. “So which is it, Sammy? Love me, or in love with me?”

“You know the answer, Dean,” Sam whispers miserably. “It hasn’t changed since that day in the cabin.”

Sam is surprised again when Dean winces and says, “Yeah. I didn’t handle that well, did I?” A little stunned, Sam shakes his head, unable to speak. “I couldn’t, you know? Handle it.”

With a hollow laugh, Sam runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah well. Me either.”

“I shouldn’t have left,” Dean offers apologetically.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better, Dean,” Sam murmurs. “Why are we talking about this?”

“We were always going to have to, weren’t we?” Dean sits up slowly, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Tonight seemed like a good a night as any.”

Sam turns to face him fully. “Okay,” he says, resigned. “I’m listening.”

There isn’t a lot of light, but Sam takes comfort in the fact that his brother’s eyes are still green. “Don’t have a lot to say, Sammy.” Sam pulls and irritated face and Dean laughs. “Mostly just wanted to know if you loved me.”

“You got that answer already,” Sam says tightly. “Now what?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about things, Sam,” Dean says quietly. “Things like, how I knew there was something between us before Marc and Jem.” Sam flinches at the nicknames, he can’t help it. “How I can’t really be surprised that we fell in love with each other. Or,” Dean continues as Sam’s heartbeat speeds up, “or that you were the one who chose our roles.”

Sam jerks up. “I didn’t...” he begins. “I didn’t.”

“You did,” Dean counters almost gently. “But now it’s my turn. And I choose Option B.”

“What’s Option B?” Sam asks, mouth dry.

Dean stands fluidly and Sam jerks his gaze away because Dean’s only in boxer-briefs. “Option B,” Dean says, “is kissing that fucking look off your face.” Then his hands are in Sam’s hair, tilting his head back to look at his brother’s smiling expression. “Say no if this isn’t what you want.”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Sam breathes, and surges up out of the chair to meet Dean’s lips with his.

And then they’re kissing. Sam tugs Dean closer, leaning his ass against the edge of the table and it’s the most natural thing in the world for Dean to stand between his thighs, pressing them hip to hip, groin to groin.

Dean’s kissing him like it’s an Olympic sport, sliding their tongues together, crushing his lips to Sam’s. Sam moans when Dean places little sucking kisses at the corners of his lips. With some effort, Dean hitches him up onto the table, pushing the computer out of the way. For his part, Sam hooks one leg around Dean’s waist and pulls him closer so that he can rub against him.

They somehow manage to shed both their shirts without breaking the kiss. “Sam, Sam...” Dean murmurs against his lips. “Pants. Take them off.”

Eagerly Sam undoes the buttons of his fly and shimmies his jeans down his legs. He’s been dreaming about this for long enough that it doesn’t seem real. At least until Dean’s head dips down and sucks the head of his cock into his mouth. Sam locks his ankles around the table legs in order to keep from thrusting up. “Fuck,” he moans, one hand clenching in Dean’s short hair. “Fuck, fuck, Christ, Dean you’re good at this.”

Dean pulls off to grin. “I’m a sex god, College Boy.”

Sam’s reply is lost when Dean continues his ministrations. He is really good at it, swirling his tongue around the head, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks. Except for the first day in the shower, Sam hasn’t touched himself in any way. So Dean expertly sucking him brings him embarrassingly close to the edge too quickly.

“Dean,” Sam gasps, pushing at his head. “Dean ”

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean says, pulling off, and his voice is whiskey rough.

“I’m gonna come, you dick.” Sam’s panting, great heaving breaths. “Too soon.”

Dean levers himself up off his knees with a grunt. “Bed. Now.”

Instead of clamoring onto the bed, Sam begins yanking at Dean’s boxers, sliding his hands beneath the waistband to cup Dean’s ass. They stumble to the bed together, connected at the lips, still kissing. “How much,” Dean murmurs in Sam’s ear, “do you remember of the last six months?”

“Not much,” Sam grunts, “but I did go to college.” He abandons Dean’s mouth to skate kisses down his brother’s neck, sucking a dark bruise at the juncture of his shoulder. Dean groans when he does, so Sam does it again, leaving a pattern of bruises down his brother’s neck and shoulders.  
Sam surveys the marks he left before he starts leaving long, sucking kisses down the center of Dean’s chest. His brother is constantly shifting below him, hands buried in the covers. From what Sam can remember of their time as Marcus and James, Sam had always been the one on the receiving end of things.

Well, it’s Dean’s turn now, and Sam is determined to take what he learned from James and use it against his brother. A lot.

To his credit, Sam is only a little daunted when he gets to Dean’s tented and skewed boxer briefs. He presses a kiss to Dean’s hip bone, before tugging the article of clothing off and away. Dean is... just as big as he remembers, and Sam contemplates him for a long moment.  
“Sam?” Dean says, “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Sam glances up at him and grins. “Shut up, Dean.” He trails a finger up the length of Dean’s cock, gratified when his brother shivers. He’s not sure he can use his mouth, Dean is large, and Sam is nervous so he slings a hand around Dean’s dick and squeezes.

Dean writhes like he’s never been touched before, hips jumping up and legs falling wide. Sam jerks him slow and steady, using the dribbles of pre-come as a lubricant. Sam has to use his free arm to hold Dean’s hips down. “How long has it been?” Sam asks his brother, voice guttural and rough.

“Since, oh fuck, our last time,” Dean pants out, twisting his hips. “Fuck Sam, come on. Can’t stand, fuck Same rhythm.”

Sam grins and slows his hand down more, dragging the sensation along. Dean’s fists are clenching in the bed covers, yanking them up and down. “You okay, Dean?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the inside of Dean’s thigh.

“Fuck, Sam, I’m right fuckin’ there,” Dean groans, and Sam stops, rising up to straddle him instead.

They both gasp when their cocks slide together, and Dean hooks one leg around Sam. As Sam leans down to kiss him again, his brother flips them, grinding down on Sam’s erection.

“Dean,” Sam gasps, tugging his brother closer.

“Too close to fuck you,” Dean whispers against the side of his face. “Just like this.”

Their lips meet again and Sam spreads his legs to Dean’s low moan. “Just like this,” Sam agrees against his brother’s mouth. They rub against each other, and Sam can feel his belly tightening, so close to orgasm. “Fuck, Dean...” he whispers against the side of his brother’s face.

“Come for me, Sammy,” Dean says, and Sam does.

Sam’s had a lot of sex in the last six years, both with men and with women, but never once did it feel like it does now.

  
  


*

Dean wakes up to Sam’s mouth on his dick. He jerks, swearing, hands already fisting in Sam’s hair before he can stop himself. “Son of a bitch,” he hisses, trying not to thrust into the warm heat of his brother’s mouth. Sam is inexperienced, sloppy with drool and unable to take him all the way in, but it’s the best fucking blow job Dean’s ever gotten.

It’s easier than Sam thought it would be, though it’s as undignified as it looks. Dean’s not small, so he has to use his hand to jack the bottom few inches of his brother’s cock. Dean doesn’t seem to mind, though, with his head thrown back and moaning like a porn star.

Sam pulls off with a wet plop, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth before licking the head of Dean’s cock with his tongue. He’s never been a big fan of spit, even his own. He drags his tongue down the vein on the underside and Dean’s hips jerk when he does. Sam grins, at least until Dean’s fingers bury themselves in his hair and yank painfully.

Something else he hadn’t know about himself. Hair pulling is not a turn on. Sam flicks Dean’s thigh until he lets go, only then does he go back to sucking on his brother’s cock. Dean growls something inarticulate, the words caught behind his teeth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck son of a bitch, fuck,” he groans, fisting his hands in the blankets to keep them out of Sam’s hair. “For fuck’s sake, Sammy ”

Sam pulls away again, fisting Dean loosely as he smirks. “You okay, big brother?” he asks, and he’s shocked at the sound of his voice. He’s hoarse, and sounds fucked out, and it’s like he’s dropped a few octaves or registers. “Want me to stop?”

“No. Yes. No. Shit.” Dean lets go of the blanket to guide Sam up to his mouth. They kiss briefly, before Dean rests his forehead against Sam’s. “You call the shots, baby brother. But I’m three point five seconds from coming and,” he says, breath hitching, “it’s your choice where it goes.”

Sam bites his lip before coming to a decision. “Then fuck me.” He presses full length against Dean, rubbing their erections together. “Fuck me, just you and me.”

Groaning, Dean seals his lips to Sam’s, kissing him for all he’s worth. “Turn over. It’s easier this way.”

Smiling, Sam obeys. “Because you know so much about this sort of thing?”

“Shut up, I watch porn.”

Sam starts to laugh, but it turns into a choked moan as Dean swipes his fingers over Sam’s ass. “Just... go slow,” he requests. “And the lube is in my bag.” He’s given a minute reprieve as Dean gets off the bed to fish out the lube.

He takes a long minute to watch his brother swagger back to the bed, cock hard and leaking against his belly. “Like what you see, Sammy?”

“I’m trying to find Marcus in you,” Sam answers. “I can’t.”

Dean smiles a little, ducking his head. “If it makes you feel any better, I can’t see James in you either.”

“Good.” Dean looks surprised at the blunt response. “What, it is good. That means it’s just us.”

“Aw, Sammy,” Dean says as he gets back on the bed. “It’s always been just us.” He moves between Sam’s legs, spreading them gently. “You ready, little brother?”

Sam cranes his neck back to look at him. “I hope you’re planning on preparing me first, dude–nngh,” He gasps as one slick finger of Dean’s slides between his cheeks and points against his hole. He jerks back as it enters him, trying to impale himself faster with it. Fuck slow. “Dean, you spent six months fucking me, don’t be so damn gentle.”

Huffing out a laugh, Dean presses a kiss to one of the dimples at the small of Sam’s back. “That was Marcus and James. I want to take my time.” He touches the tip of his finger to Sam’s prostate. Sam groans, twisting his hips.

“Dean, remember when you said you were three point five seconds away from coming?” Sam says, panting, arms trembling as he lifts himself up. “I whole - ah - heartedly agree with this sentence.”

“You talk too much,” Dean muses, and slides in a second finger. “Also,” he adds, with a wicked glint to his smile, “you’ll recover.”

He scissors his fingers, sliding them in and out crossing and uncrossing randomly. “Fuck, Dean,” Sam shouts as Dean’s fingers rub across his prostate with each up stroke.

Dean crowds closer, cock brushing the outside of Sam’s hip. He leans forward, pulling Sam up to his knees to rest against Dean’s chest. “Next time, Sammy,” Dean whispers in his ear, “I’ll open you up with my mouth.”

“Fuck ” Sam jerks once, and comes without Dean even touching his cock. “Jesus, Dean.”

“Hmm,” Dean murmurs. “Now you’re ready.” He pushes at Sam’s hip. “Turn to face me.” Sam obliges, sliding his hip against Dean’s erection. When they’re face to face, Sam leans in for a kiss, and Dean settles back on his heels. “Come on, sit up.” He slides his hands under Sam’s ass and lowers him down onto his very erect cock. “Do it slow.”

But Sam is tired of slow. Sam grabs Dean’s hands and jerks his hips down, taking all of Dean in one thrust.

“Fucking fuck, Sam,” Dean jerks up before he can stop himself. “I’m not going to last long,” he swears, panting, pressing his forehead into Sam’s shoulder.

“So come,” Sam grunts. “I told you where I wanted it.”

A few thrusts into Sam and Dean is spilling inside of him, pressing finger marks into Sam’s hips. They’ll bruise, but Dean can’t find it in himself to be upset about it. Especially not when he catches Sam touching them in the days that follow.

They fall asleep together, curled up on the bed, Dean half on top of Sam. It’s so blessedly normal that both of them fall asleep almost instantly.

*

When Sam opens his eyes again, Dean is facing him on the bed, eyes open. Part of Sam is surprised that his brother is still here, and he blinks.

“We freaking out here?” Dean asks him gently.

Sam thinks about the conversations he half remembers from his time as James, and shakes his head. “Dean I was already in love with you before the six months was up.”

Snorting softly, Dean tugs him closer. “Yeah. Me too.” He presses a kiss to the top of Sam’s head before grinning. “Sure you’re not freaking out?”

Sam laughs. “Just wait until it’s my turn.”

“... Your turn?”

He claps Dean on the chest before getting out of bed. “Yeah, and if it makes you feel any better,” he says with a wink, “just lie back and think of England.”  
 

  


*The End

  
  


  
| [1](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/73666.html) | [2](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/73219.html) | [3](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/73112.html) | [4](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/72925.html) | [5](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/72679.html) | [ Notes & Soundtrack ](http://placeofinsanity.livejournal.com/72313.html)  


**Author's Note:**

> This story started a long time ago, I think. Like all my stories, it had a place in a different fandom with a different pairing and different characters, and probably bad grammar. Ever since Zachariah told Adam that the Winchesters were ‘erotically co-dependent’ which, instead of making me go “LOL Zach ships wincest” I took it at face value. It was (yet another) amused prod at our fandom, and my particular chosen pairing.
> 
> But that whole arc got me thinking. Sam and Dean are soul mates. It’s canon, literal canon and I just had to dip my little Pagan fingers in it. I’ve believed in reincarnation my entire life. Even when I was a tween masquerading as a Christian, I believed that even with how long life is, there is no way we can possibly learn everything in one life.
> 
> Cue in The Adding Machine* and I found my world view. (*In the Adding Machine, an existential play a la Waiting for Godot, has the main character dying and then later being told that he gets to go back, and has in fact, done so a million times before. In his infinite wisdom he asks “how come I don’t remember none of it?” And the answer is “because souls get worn out quicker that way.”)
> 
> Fredrick and Risika are extensions of that world view. Mike and Lynnie are practically real people. (My best friend’s middle name is Michael, and mine is Lynn.) But James and Marcus are characters I’ve held and cherished, waiting for the perfect story. Then I met Sam and Dean.
> 
> There is no such amulet that brings back past lives, and most hypnotists can’t do it either. Not everyone can be a Cleopatra or Sherlock Holmes, or some other ridiculously famous character from history. James is a real person, the son of a lost king. He’s technically James the I, the prince gets a few mentions then when his father dies, James II is suddenly king and its years later. So what happened to James I? Marcus isn’t anyone special. Marcus is actually a character I started to create for an original story - his name was Roland then. The first line of the story was this: “He was born the son of a farmer and was bred a killer.” I just couldn’t take Dean seriously if his past life was named Roland.
> 
> So here it is, in all its finished glory and I still think it sucks. It’s my first real bigbang, so I’d like to thank a few people.
> 
> dH, my beta. My god, I love you. Seriously, if not for you, I’d never have gotten through it, everything would be all chopped to shit and all I have to say is: FUCK TENSE.
> 
> jassy3399 , my first alpha reader. You got me through it with emails full of LOLz and the idea that got me past 10,000 words. Love you, bb.
> 
> blackcathollow , my alpha reader. You. The only RL friend I can really talk to about slash, fanfic and my absolutely insane brainspace. Thank you.
> 
> kingsblkdragon , my artist. The banners are AMAZING, and I think I fell a little more in love with James and Marcus because of them. Thank you SO MUCH, for the spectacularness. I am almost literally speechless with how much they are awesome. I think I just stared in awe for like, five minutes after you emailed them to me. <3bb.
> 
> wendy and thehighwaywoman who hosted this, and let me get away with murder. Pretty much literally.


End file.
